Clouds of the Past
by MirwenAnareth
Summary: This story will soon be deleted. If you are interested, follow its revised version, The Name Lost in Time, instead.
1. Secret of the Orphan

**The Elder Scrolls series is the property of Bethesda Game Studios. I only own the OCs.**

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Dear readers,

before you delve into this story of mine, I'd like to apologize for any mistakes and inconsistencies you might find there. I am not a native English speaker, so I sometimes struggle with my English. If you chance upon anything that doesn't sit well with you, don't be afraid to point it out. Any piece of advice or beta is welcome.  
My works can also be found on Archive of Our Own under the same name.

Now a bit about the story itself. It takes place in the city of Winterhold. It will NOT evolve around the Dragonborn or any of the main quests in Skyrim, but it concerns some major events mentioned there (namely the Great Collapse, the Civil War and maybe some other things). My fic will mostly feature original characters, but the main protagonist will meet the Dragonborn and some of the canon characters at some point.

I would like to thank TwillinOfTheWillows for helping me come up with some important aspects of the main plot. Love you! :3

Enjoy the story. :)

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 **Chapter 01: Secret of the Orphan**

The wind whined and wailed through the crevices in the cold stone walls, and it blew the snow inside the room as one of the windows was open, grinning at the girl leaning to the opposite wall like a mouth open wide in a twisted grimace. It had gotten cold inside, but the girl did not seem to pay any attention to this small detail, inhaling deeply the fresh air. Winterhold was a place of murky gloom and raging snowstorms, grey and harsh, but it had a beauty to it that no other settlement on Nirn could ever achieve. There was always something magical in the air, and it was not just by the fact that the world's most famous and prestigious school of magic was located there. There were strange powers all around, whispering and beckoning, and while most of the people feared them and avoided them, a few courageous ones found their beauty in such a place forsaken by the Divines and dedicated their life to them.

Despite always reveling in the mysterious atmosphere of the place, Yrith was not one of them.

She jerked her head a little to her side and her silky raven hair slid down from her shoulders, spreading a dark blanket over her back and covering a considerable part of the brown and grey novice robes she was wearing. She was sitting there lazily, her feet playing with the chair nearby and bouncing it against the bed at her side. Then she heard footsteps from outside of the room and jumped up promptly, quietly sneaking under the bed until not an inch was visible of her.

The footsteps stopped right before the entrance door to the room and she held her breath. The door opened.

A pair of well-kept leather boots with delicate ornaments imprinted in the smooth hide made its way to the center of the room in nigh absolute silence. She watched them cautiously, her hand over her mouth, and then a clear vivid voice spoke.

"Get out of there at once."

She waited, still hoping that it was just a blind shot, but then a hand slipped under the bed in a flash and caught the rim of her robes, pulling her out with surprising strength.

"You can't fool me," a stern looking Altmer woman hissed as she forced Yrith to look into her amber eyes, a mild triumphant smile forming on her lips. "Aren't you supposed to be attending your classes at this hour?"

"Oh, and aren't you supposed to guard the entrance to the College, or whatever task you might be assigned to? I guess that makes us even," Yrith returned with a sly smirk.

"My responsibilities are none of your business, young lady, and if you value your freedom and the comfortable life you've been granted here, you will be on your way at once. I already have enough of a reason to give you a detention."

"None of the other students get detentions for skipping classes!" the girl whined and feigned a hurt look. The elven woman snorted.

"Ah, okay then. Return when you actually have the coin to pay for your studies and we might set you up under different conditions," she drawled, shrugging nonchalantly which only spurred Yrith's already upset emotions. She snarled and pursed her lips angrily.

"I never asked you to enroll me here as a student," she grumbled.

"So I guess it would have been better for you if you starved to death out there?"

"I would have managed," she muttered in a very unconvincing tone. "Anyway, I'm not attending conjuration."

"Right. You'll be there in three minutes or I'm putting you on detention with Cain when he's on the cleaning duty. Your call."

Suddenly, she looked alarmed. Promptly packing a few things such as a quill, an almost empty notebook and a few soulgems, she darted out of the room, tripping on the way as one of her shoes, too big for her tiny feet, slipped of. She put it on again clumsily and half skipped to the door to the courtyard. Running across the quiet snowy plaza with a fountain of blue light in the middle, she bowed her head ever so slightly to a passing orc whom she recognized as the local librarian and made her way to a great wooden gate leading to the tallest tower of the whole complex.

"Late for the lecture again?" the librarian called after her. "Well, good luck with your first impression!"

First impression? She looked over her shoulder, granting the orc a curious glance. Just what would he mean by first impression?

But never mind, she brushed the thought aside quickly. She was sure Lady Faralda would be asking about her attendance later, and therefore she could not waste another second. A detention with Cain? A slow painful death in the fires of Oblivion would be considered mercy comparing to that. There was no way she would ever let that happen.

The door gave out a painful whine when she opened it. She cussed in her thoughts, thinking that she might have to ask Master Enthir for some oil to lubricate the old frozen hinges. There was no way of sneaking around if the doors creaked at the slightest movement. Although she was convinced by now that someone had been lurking around, wiping the oil away secretly so the treacherous doors would give her away. And she had a good reason to suspect a certain Dunmer student, so talented in arcane arts that nothing ever took him more than two tries, while mocking her to no end for her desperate attempts to master at least the basic spells. She sighed.

Walking through the foyer opening beneath the door, she reached the Hall of the Elements with its tall windows which, according to the current Arch-Mage, were reminiscent of the old Cyrodilic architecture. A group of people stood at the far end of the vast round chamber, listening to the speech of a tall young Nord. She paused for a moment, but then she strode to join the crowd, raising her head and waving her hands slightly to give an impression of elegance.

"Oh, hey, midget," a stilted voice drawled as she approached. "Have you come to chase off our familiars with those dukes of yours?"

She glared at the Dunmer whose spiky hair nearly blinded her with the same fiery color his irises had, piercing him with her eyes, but he only smirked with amusement and the whole class roared in laughter.

"Silence!" the Nord scolded and the students quieted, making way as he stepped forward. He took a quick glance at a book he was holding and raised his brows.

"Yrith Ravencroft, I presume?"

"And Master Gestor is…" she asked, ignoring his question. She studied him carefully and felt a slight tug at her heart. The man before her was an epitome of handsomeness. Tall, with long black hair, almost as dark as hers, plaited in a single loose braid, and even darker eyes which stared at her attentively, fans of long eyelashes crowning them elegantly. His face was slender and his nose narrow, looming over a graceful curve that formed his lips. He was a bit skinny for a Nord, but still well-built for a mage, the hard elongated muscles on his arms emphasized by his sleeveless silver robes with yellow lining. His skin was slightly tanned, as if he had spent a portion of his life outside.

"Retired as of today," the man replied coolly. Even his voice was alluring, deep and melodic, and there was a touch of crispiness in it which made her shiver. She stared at him with her mouth ajar, barely breathing, and suddenly realized that her heart was beating its way out of her body. Oh, for the sake of the Nine, she hoped he did not notice. "I don't like my students coming late to the classes," he told her sternly.

"Yes, well, I was, uh…" she stammered, backing a few steps away. "I mean, I lost my textbook somewhere and…"

"We don't have a textbook," he reminded her, his eyes sharpened icicles digging their way into her body.

"Ah, my restoration textbook," she quickly corrected herself but was now convinced that her lie had been exposed. "I lost it and then I got so absorbed in looking for it that I just…"

"Came late to the class," he concluded emotionlessly. "Well, I hope you don't lose your textbooks very often."

She frowned and then a flush of embarrassment flooded her cheeks. He was mocking her so openly! Not just the students, but even the teachers mocked her now without so much as a blink of an eye, and everyone saw it bright as day. Her eyes fixed on the ground, she stepped aside to join the other students. Laughter thundered through the hall and all eyes were on her. She cursed them all.

"So, Miss Ravencroft," he drawled and his eyes shimmered with playful sparks. She raised her head unwillingly and her gaze met his. She could not decide if she felt more angry or embarrassed, but it was not a pleasant feeling, of that she was certain. "Since you came late, can you step forward and conjure a familiar for me? I want to demonstrate how the qualities of familiars from different people can vary."

She froze in place and felt her heart sink.

"I… I can't conjure a familiar, Master..."

"Singird Larkwing," he pointed sharply, making her want to bury her head in her hands. "I'd say you could at least come to class knowing the name of your teacher."

The class laughed yet again.

"Well, if you can't conjure a familiar, then you'll just have to give it your best shot. Step forward, please."

She shot him a furious glance and spent all her energy trying to convince herself that stomping angrily would not do her any good. Unwillingly she shuffled to the teacher's side and faced the heartily entertained class. Stretching out her hands, she furrowed her eyebrows and waved her arms wildly, but nothing happened. The Nord sighed.

"Of course you can't conjure a familiar. You can't flop your hands like a crippled bird. Have they taught you nothing here? Search for your inner source of energy. Draw the magicka from there and focus on materializing what you want to conjure. Call its soul to you and give it a body. Like this."

With that, he stretched his hands, took a deep breath, then a flash of dark violet energy emerged from his fingertips and formed an ethereal frame of a mighty wolf. The beast howled and ran to its master. Everyone except Yrith clapped their hands.

"Anyone else want to display their talents?" Singird asked as his look hovered over the whole class. It stopped on the fiery-haired Dunmer who stuck out his chest and raised his chin proudly. The Nord beckoned to him and he stepped up, giving Yrith a haughty smirk as he passed her.

"Watch and learn," he drawled at her silently and then winked at a tall blonde beauty in the small crowd of students who was nothing like Yrith with her small posture and round face.

The Dunmer followed Singird's example and stretched out his hands in a perfect line. A while after, his own familiar's howl echoed through the hall and the teacher sent his own beast against the dark elf's. After a short fight full of growling, biting and scratching, naturally, Singird's familiar came out victorious. The Dunmer scowled but kept his head high.

"You could see that my familiar was far stronger than Cain's and also more tenacious in combat," the Nord started explaining. "Conjuration is not just the simple act of summoning a creature or an object, it also includes controlling it and giving it strength. The more advanced you get, the stronger your summons and your influence over them. If any of you tried to summon an atronach of any kind, it would most likely be still defeated by my familiar, even if summoned correctly. In my lessons, you will learn step by step how to conjure and control powerful beings and bound weapons. We will also touch on necromancy, but the art of necromancy ought not to be taken lightly. Only those skilled enough in other branches of conjuration will be allowed to practice it. Your homework for the next class is to make a quick research on familiars and atronachs and write down their characteristics. It should include the scale of their strength depending on the level of the conjurer, as well as other statistics."

There was a disgruntled murmur among the students followed by the flipping sound of paper as they took out their notebooks and wrote down the instructions. Then the class disbanded and everyone headed their own way.

"Hey, midget!" Cain called after Yrith and his lips formed an arrogant sneer. She gritted her teeth but refused to look his way, putting her notebook inside her backpack as fast as she could and then darting out to the entrance door. He grabbed her collar on the way and turned her to face him.

"Let me go, Cain," she hissed.

" _Let me go, Cain,_ she says," he drawled affectedly and his classmates roared. The blonde beauty giggled and clung to his arm, her tall and slender body pressing against his hip. "Say, midget, don't you wanna join us for a cup of tea? Maybe we could even help you with your homework?"

He winked at her and she snorted with disgust.

"And have me write all of yours in the process? Or maybe add some kinky illustrations to mine? No, thank you," she pointed and tried to free herself from his grasp. He grinned at her, exhibiting his perfectly white teeth.

"Poor midget," he purred and the crowd cheered. "I so wanted to help you, but it seems you'll be stuck in the novice conjuration class forever. I'll be sure to send you a consolation prize when I graduate. At least you get something out of this."

"Shut up," she snarled and put her hand on his in attempt to shake the obnoxious Dunmer off, but he held on tight, his arm surprisingly strong.

"Or what?" he whispered to her sweetly and this time a number of whistles tore through the air. The blonde girl clinging to Cain looked displeased and her sky blue eyes pierced Yrith furiously.

"I'll beat you to a pulp," she said wryly, putting up a sour grimace.

"I wanna see you try," he invited.

Enough was enough. Yrith grabbed the hand holding her collar with both of hers and smashed the annoying classmate to the ground. A cacophony of screams and tramples resonated through the room and suddenly there was a circle of bodies around them, people cheering and shouting, clapping their hands and giving whistles to the fighting pair. Cain rose and tackled her hair, pulling her closer and jerking her head. She screamed and kicked him in the knee and he returned the scream tenfold, letting go so he could protect his freshly wounded knuckle. She stood up but several pairs of hands threw her back on the floor.

"Come on, you running out of fight, eh? Get back there, filthy midget!" they yelled at her and she felt the hotness of her flush dye her cheeks in bright red. She gave her classmates an enraged glance, but before she could do anything to make her way out of that desperate situation, she was pulled back again. She quickly ducked to avoid being hit in the face and tripped her opponent so he fell square on the cold stone floor.

"Now you've done it," he hissed and raised his hands. At first, she thought he would smack her, but then a silver screen of frost appeared around them and a shower of tiny ice particles landed on her, leaving small wounds that stung and spread a cold sensation through her whole body. She could feel her energy being drained from her and cried out with pain.

"What in Oblivion is happening here?!" a voice bellowed from behind and the crowd made way for the dark-haired Nord who had left the room moments before.

The two fighters shifted apart immediately, both with expressions full of guilt and embarrassment. Yrith's eyes hypnotized a tile on the floor while Cain's alarmed look met the teacher's furious gaze.

"Detention, both of you," he whispered dangerously. "I seriously did not think that my first day here would be full of such… misdemeanor, but it seems that this academy is in far worse state than I had anticipated. I will keep a close eye on you two. For now, you are to retrieve the fish from the nets down on the shore every morning and evening for one month."

"What?!" Yrith gasped in exasperation. "For a whole month?! You can't do this!"

"Oh, I can do a lot worse, Miss Ravencroft, and believe me, I will if I deem it necessary," he wagged his finger at the two of them.

"But…"

"Miss Ravencroft, one more word," he warned, his voice but a whisper.

She gave him an aggrieved look but fell silent at once. Cain was staring at her angrily, his fists clenched so tightly that the ebony skin on his knuckles had turned almost white. At that moment, Yrith thought that the two of them had at least one thing in common.

She rose and paced out of the room, her face still red with rage, and no sooner did she stop than she had left the courtyard and set her foot on the astonishingly tall and narrow bridge leading to the ravaged city of Winterhold. She leaned to the crumbling low wall surrounding it and took a deep breath, watching over the vast grey abyss underneath. The wind was blowing her raven hair in her face, whipping her cheeks and making her eyes mist with tears, and so she just closed them and kept breathing to calm herself down. She would need a lot more than that, though, and so she decided to set out for a little adventure.

Turning back, she walked into the gates of the College once again and entered the vast foyer of the Hall of the Elements. She slipped behind the door on her right and hopped up the steps to the library, waving at the orc librarian whom she had met before. He nodded in greeting.

"Ah, there you are, little Misanthrope," he called to her with a grin. "How did it go?"

"Not worth mentioning," she brushed him off. "Do you have Chance's Folly?"

"You really love these stories, don't you?" he chuckled. "It's here somewhere. Not many people borrow books like this nowadays."

"Great," she said with a smile. "Say, Urag… do you know where Master Larkwing has his office?"

"His office? That all you wanna know? Easy enough. There's a new room right next to the enchanting device on the upper floor of the Hall of Countenance. Lucky bastard, he's got all the floor for himself."

"Thank you!" she purred gratefully. "If there's anything you need downtown, just tell me. Seems like I'm going for a stroll later."

"In that case, a new set of quills from Birna's would do, thank you," he gave her a warm smile of appreciation. Then a hint of concern crept into his expression. "So, have you made any friends yet?"

"I'm not talking to that lot," she snorted and crossed her arms over her chest in a rebellious gesture. The orc sighed.

"You can't distance yourself from people forever," he told her as softly as he could with his voice rough as a gravel slope.

"But I'm not distancing myself! They distance themselves from me!" she objected fiercely.

"Just don't shut yourself out completely, okay? Try to look at it from their perspective. They can't see beyond the mask that you're putting up."

"I'm not putting up a mask," she muttered grumpily, and with that she left the library, a thick book under her arm. Urag watched her attentively, shaking his head as he turned back to the book he had been reading before her arrival.

Back to the Hall of the Elements and through the courtyard, she took the door on the left of the main gate and entered the Hall of Countenance. Now came the challenge, for this place was never quite vacated. She checked the entrances to the surrounding chambers cautiously and when she did not spot anyone in there, she crept to the stairs the shortest way possible, along the fountain of bright blue light at the center. She knew the professional thieves always preferred shady corners and dark passages, but she was of the opinion that the darkest place is under the candlestick, and so she had decided to abide by this saying. So far it had never failed her, and so she was happily climbing the stairs to the upper level in just a few seconds. Fortunately for her, the place was quiet and deserted, and so she crawled her way to her new teacher's office and searched it thoroughly.

She grinned at the neatly organized piles of books and clothes, at the incredibly tidy drawers and wardrobes, at the orderly rows of books lined up according to their size and title. Ah, this was great. So he was this kind of man, the super disciplined, uptight scholar who had to know where his things were. Marvelous!

She carefully took a pile of books from the desk and shuffled them, mixing them with the ones in one of the rows in the bookcase, taking out different ones of the same size and placing them back on the desk. Then she took a pile of the Nord's shirts and mixed them with his mage robes, creating one taller column. She left half of it on the shelf where the shirts had been while the other half was put in the drawer. Like this, she eventually mixed up everything in the room. At last, her eyes hovered over the new setup with sparks of satisfaction. At first sight, the room looked exactly as it had been when she had first entered. But things had changed place here and within the next couple of hours, her freshly hated teacher would be of very poor humor. She nodded and praised herself secretly, and silently left the room with a sly smile on her lips.

Upon reaching the lower level, she heard voices approaching from the outside. She froze in place and felt her heart beat wildly in alarm. She sneaked behind the winding stairway as fast as she could, pressing her body into the dark narrow corner beneath it. Two people entered the round chamber.

"Miss Faralda," a deep melodic voice bellowed and Yrith recognized her new conjuration master. "What is it with that girl? What's her problem? She has no friends, her attitude is absolutely terrible, she doesn't even want to learn magic! Why do you keep someone like her at the College?"

"Master Singird, please, have patience with her," Faralda's bright, clear voice echoed through the room. "Making her attend classes was the only thing we could think of to keep her from mulling over her parents' death. I know she's not the most talented student, but please, endure it until she's at least old enough to leave."

"Is that what the other teachers told you?" he asked, and there was a hint of exasperation in his voice. After a minute of silence, he continued. "Did they tell you she is not talented? Or do _you_ think so?"

"Well, everyone here pretty much agreed on that, yes."

"I see," he mused. "I have to say I know nothing about her talents. She wouldn't even try." A contemptuous snort escaped his lips.

"She… she doesn't let others approach her easily. And maybe she's just sick of being laughed at by the rest of her class…"

"And it's definitely going to help if she waves her hands like some crazy Sheogorath's scarecrow," he drawled sarcastically. "Now you listen to me. If this girl refuses to cooperate, she's out of this school. Do I make myself clear?"

"You don't have the authority to…"

"I have the authority to submit a report to the Arch-Mage along with the evidence that she does not abide by the Codex. I also have the authority to call a meeting to order and discuss the matter there, and from what I've seen, I am not the only one who thinks that your favoritism is inadequate. She will be out."

"But she doesn't have anywhere to go!" Faralda exclaimed with a shaky voice but was interrupted.

"That is none of my concern," he hissed mercilessly in an ice-cold tone. "Good day."

With that, he climbed up the stairs and left the poor destruction teacher to her thoughts. She walked into her room after a short period of silence, only to jump out again and rush upstairs at once when she heard a scream. Yrith scowled sourly, clenching her fists, and decided it was time for her to go. She quickly stepped out of the tower and shut the door behind herself, marching to her room. There she finally lay down on her bed and dove into the world of thievery and tragedy as she let herself get absorbed by the story of the book she had brought from the library.

Unwillingly, she put the book aside and took her coat when it was finally time to go out and collect the fish. The wicked Dunmer was waiting for her beneath the main gate, grimacing as usual. In his right hand he held a bag which he dumped at her the moment she stepped on the bridge.

"Hold onto this, midget, it's your fault we're here anyway," he growled at her.

"I'm not your servant," she hissed at him angrily but he just laughed at her.

"Might as well become one, don't think I'm gonna stick with this stinking job. Now hurry up and move that lazy tail of yours or I'm gonna kick it until we get there."

"You wouldn't dare…" she started only to further his amusement.

"Or what? You gonna report me? And who would they be more likely to believe, eh?"

Her face turned bright red as she grabbed the bag angrily and paced across the bridge. He was on her heels, smirking cunningly as they descended through the city of Winterhold. Dark shades were spreading over the desolate remains of the ravaged buildings which people were too afraid to even touch after the Great Collapse as the sun behind the clouds slowly gave way to the nearing night. They left the city in silence and walked the poorly kept paved road, the snowflakes landing on their coats gently, covering them slowly in white blankets of frost. Then a silent cracking sound issued nearby and Yrith shivered.

"You scared, midget?" Cain mocked, obviously enjoying the angry jerk of her head that followed.

"In your dreams," she muttered, but she did not believe her words herself.

"Boo, I'm the great Troll King and I'm gonna skin you and eat you off!" he laughed and put up his shoulders, mimicking a troll.

"Will you shut that trap of yours and…" she started, but then she gasped and her eyes widened.

"What, scared that I run you over, midget?" he sneered.

"Cain, behind you…" she stammered.

"Oh, you don't scare me…"

"Turn around, you trollhead!" she cried and he finally looked over his shoulder. His eyes widening just like hers had, he jumped a few steps in her direction.

"That's…"

"An ice wraith, gods, what do we do?! It's not supposed to be this close to the city!" she panicked.

Cain raised his hands and a sphere of flames enveloped them and then shot towards the ethereal creature, but the fire died out upon touching it with a hissing sound. He repeated the process twice before the wraith lunged forward and dug its frosty teeth into his cloak. The dark elf screamed when he felt a touch of cold on his right forearm that he had put up to protect himself and his legs gave way, sending him to the freezing ground. Yrith shrieked with horror.

She watched the creature wind about him, trembling and panic-stricken. He was helpless, the young novice he was, and she knew there was no way out of this situation. Unless…

She gritted her teeth as she stretched out her arms. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and let the energy flow. Violet sparks emerged from her hands and a creature appeared before her. She opened her eyes and stared at the flame atronach she had summoned, a graceful being contrasting the surrounding darkness with the golden light that imbued its body.

"Go," she commanded shakily. "Go and kill it."

The atronach canted forward and shot a series of firebolts at the wraith. Soon, only a small pile of ice remained and the young Dunmer stared at his companion in disbelief.

"You just…"

She leaned to him, sticking up a finger in a silent warning.

"You saw nothing," she hissed at him. "You know nothing and this," she threw her arms about, "never happened."

"Oh really now," he purred.

"You little…" she shook her head in disbelief. "I just saved your butt!"

"No, that never happened," he smirked slyly. "Actually, I might even consider being nice to you. If you teach me this little trick of yours. And if not… well, how about becoming my slave instead?"

"Not happening," she snapped, outraged, and pounded to the sea.

"Then I guess it's time the others knew that you've been deceiving them," he said sweetly.

"You wouldn't…"

"Oh, and why not? Unless you gave me a good reason… good enough to make me reconsider, that is."

"You wouldn't understand," she muttered, speeding up to chase away the feeling of uneasiness that spread through her mind and body and made her want to throw up.

"Hey, I'm smarter than you," he insisted with a snort.

"You wouldn't understand," she repeated firmly. _You wouldn't understand the fear of someone who killed her parents with conjuration,_ she added in her thoughts and shivered as she recalled that terrible night. No, it was best that no one knew about her messed up talent. She had vowed that she would never conjure again, and nobody could change that _._


	2. Friend or Foe?

**Chapter 02: Friend or Foe?**

"Here you go," Yrith said and placed a semi-transparent box on the desk. A number of quills of various shapes and sizes were arranged there neatly and the box itself looked luxurious with its gilded corners and edges coated in fine leather supporting a series of thin panels made in glass.

"Ah, thank you, you're a lifesaver," the orc said as he raised his head to meet her gaze, granting her a heartwarming smile which, as far as Yrith knew, he did not exhibit too often. "I've had to make a copy of one book and there are three more to go. And there has been so much paperwork lately, with the new system installed. The Arch-Mage wanted me to teach history here! Can you believe it?" Then he frowned when he looked at her and ran his hand through his white beard. "Are you okay? You look… exhausted, to say the least."

"Well, there's been a lot going on," she said evasively, but his eyes narrowed, demanding answers. If there was a single person who could read every expression of Yrith's, it would be him.

"By Malacath, you're such a stubborn girl," he sighed. "Just don't come crying to me again when you have no one to talk to."

She pursed her lips, irked and embarrassed at the same time, and averted her eyes. Suddenly, her attention turned to the book he had been reading before. It was a thick and heavy looking tome, its vast pages covering a considerable part of the desk, and she could swear that she had not seen such a large book or its pitch black cover with silver lining at the library before. She had read a great deal of the local selection and the rest she knew by sight so she found it surprising that there was one she could not recognize.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing her finger at it. She let out a sigh when she noticed a part of her robes being torn at the sleeve as she raised her hand, probably due to the conjuration gesture she had performed before. After all, she wasn't used to this practice, but it meant extra work for her since she had to stitch the damned thing.

"Ah, just some crappy piece of pulp fiction someone had brought here," he said. "Nothing for your delicate taste. At least I have something to keep me warm when I run out of firewood."

She raised her brows. If there was one person who would never harm a book or a scroll, Urag gro-Shub would be the guy. Something smelled fishy here, but she knew him to be just as stubborn as she was, if not more, and so she decided to put the subject aside. For now.

"Gonna go sleep now," she told him and her hand reached for the ripped part of her robes inadvertently, touching the skin beneath it. She shivered, for her fingers were ice-cold from the previous trip.

"G'night," he muttered, turning back to his book. "Take care. And find some friends, for the Nine's sake, or you're gonna turn into a grumpy hermit and grow grey hair before I kick the bucket."

"Don't talk about things like this so casually," she snorted. "You're the only one I have here."

"And that's the problem, you silly," he grumbled.

She shook her head and strode towards the entrance door, tugging at her robes which only worsened their condition. She slapped her hand with the other one, scolding herself in her thoughts for adding up to her workload. Rushing through the Arcanaeum, she made her way to her room in the Hall of Attainment. Surprisingly, she found most of its occupants in the main hall, surrounding a young tall Redguard she had never seen before. He was standing on the low stone wall surrounding the fountain at the center, entertaining them with stories.

"… and then I saw him walk out of the tent, and the kid repeated 'He came out of the Elder's backside!' From then on, people never called the place any other name than 'The Elder's Backside'," he said to the crowd and a roar of laughter shook the chamber. Even the fountain of light seemed to delight in the merry atmosphere and let out a spray of glittering sparks.

"Ah, the midget is here," a blonde girl said with a smirk when she noticed Yrith. It was the same one who had clung to Cain so affectionately before, a conceited little brat called Leyna Travi.

"One of your classmates?" the Redguard asked and his deep blue irises sparkled with interest, contrasting his dark skin, as he turned to Yrith. His expression was relaxed and welcoming, his warm smile emphasized by the countless thin braids of dark hair that framed his unusually symmetric oval face. Just as the rest of her classmates, he was wearing the standard novice robes, apparently obtained in a rush as they were too short for him, revealing much of his slender arms and legs. And he was barefooted, obviously not too bothered by the cold pervading the place.

"Trust me, Qassir, you don't want to talk to this one," the blonde uttered, shooting Yrith a contemptuous look. "She's unbearable and there's not a single good thing about her."

"Now now," he returned in a soothing voice, "let's not be too harsh, shall we? What's your name, little urchin?"

She stared at him, quickly pressing her right arm to her hip to hide the hole in her robes. Why in Oblivion was everyone so keen on giving her names?

"Yrith," she mumbled with a frown. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

The Redguard jumped down in a swift and elegant leap, landing just a few steps from her, and gave her a wide smile, exposing a set of almost blinding snow white teeth. She blinked at him.

"My name is Qassir," he said and held out his hand. "Starting tomorrow, I'll be attending classes with you. Pleased to meet you."

She watched the hand for a while, unsure how to react to the sudden friendliness, and then squeezed it at last.

"You have a fine grip," he laughed merrily. "Why don't you join us and have some fun with everyone?"

"Uh…" she stammered, tempted to accept the invitation, but then she remembered the nature of her classmates and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm tired and I have some work to do, so I'll excuse myself here."

"Ah, what a shame," he sighed, looking genuinely disappointed. "Well, see you tomorrow then!"

And with that, he hopped back on the wall, balancing on it as though he was dancing. The crowd laughed again and his face widened with a silly grimace. Yrith stared at the strange classmate for a while before entering her room.

* * *

Singird Larkwing walked into his former master's chamber only to find it empty. He rolled his eyes when he set his gaze on the desk opposite the entrance, or, rather, the pile of books, scrolls, containers and various ingredients that hid it from his sight. Several circular translucent objects lay on the ground beneath it and there was a puddle of strange green liquid which spread from a chest beside the bed. It seemed that Phinis Gestor had not changed at all during all those years he had not seen him. He sighed and swept the dust from one of the shelves inadvertently.

"If you're looking for Phinis, he went to the Arcanaeum," a voice issued behind him, quiet and composed. He turned around to face a stern looking Breton woman whose face was framed with a mop of short light brown hair.

"Ah, Miss Ervine," he nodded. "Thank you, I'll head there then. How are the older students faring?"

"J'zargo and his experiments," she sighed and gave a tired shake of her head. "It took me five hours to clean the mess after the last one. I don't even know what those hairy things were. Not sure I want to know, though."

"That man's a real scamp," Singird sneered. "Well, see you around, I guess. Remember to hand me that paper I gave you. This school could really use some rectifying."

He darted towards the entrance door, his robes flopping around him wildly, and headed to the library in literally breathtaking speed, panting upon reaching the upper floor where the Arcanaeum was situated. It had been quite some time since he had last been there and once again, he admired the countless shelves of neatly organized books supported by the massive stone pilasters which held the tall vaulted roof. The atmosphere of this place had always been soothing to both mind and body, although he found the local librarian a little disturbing.

And right opposite the entrance, by the librarian's desk, stood a chair and a balding Breton was sitting on it, apparently fully captivated by the book he was holding in his lap. Not too far from him, behind the desk, the orc librarian was deep in thought, studying the text of a huge tome that lay in front of him, biting his lower lip with his large yellowish teeth inadvertently, providing an amusing sight to behold.

"Master Gestor," Singird spoke, his voice low, but still sharp enough in the quiet of the vast dimly lit chamber to make the former conjuration teacher jerk in surprise.

"Ah, if it isn't our little genius," Phinis Gestor smiled and rose from his seat, giving his student a brief hug. "I heard you'd be coming. Welcome back, Singird."

The orc beside them cleared his throat meaningfully, but none of them paid attention to him, both being far too occupied with sharing a moment of nostalgia.

"So, what brings you here?" Phinis asked, ignoring Urag gro-Shub's raised brow. "Surely you didn't come here just to make yourself some coin, did you? I bet the jarls in the cities could offer you much more than that."

"Coin? No, not really. I'm in search of something… and someone. Speaking of coin, the College must be really desperate to host such wimps just for a bit of gold."

"Well, we've seen better times. The cities don't support us anymore, and as much as I hate meddling in politics, we could use an influential figure here. But do not condemn these children, Singird," he said in a friendly tone. "They are not half as bad as you might think."

"Oafs," Urag grumbled and the two of them finally looked his way. "Can't even greet properly. Those _wimps_ are better than both of you. I own this place at the moment, you know. And I'm your elder."

"Sorry, uh… sir," Singird muttered and a trace of contempt was evident in his voice. "I mean… it's been a long time." The Orsimer frowned at the quasi-apology, turning back to his book.

"Haven't changed one bit, eh, Larkwing," he snorted.

The Nord grimaced, the corners of his mouth twitching, and turned back to his master who chuckled silently.

"Actually, I've been looking for you, Master Gestor," he informed him. "There's something I'd like you to look at. Maybe you could help me with this?"

He pulled a piece of paper out of his sleeve and spread it in the air, handing it to the retired teacher. There was a set of diagrams on it, lines and curves entwining and crossing each other in a complicated ornament, and a number of notes were scribbled in between them. Phinis gave it an attentive look before raising his head.

"Now this is quite rare," he said and scanned the paper again, his eyes following the thin web of ink lines. "Not the safest thing I could imagine though. You would need quite some equipment for this… and a medium. I am sorry to say that, Singird, since you obviously came all the way here for this, but I don't think any living mage would be able to assist you in this. The last one died eighty-two years ago during the Great Collapse. Unless, of course, you would like to have a dragon do you the favor, and I doubt any of those beasts would be willing to comply. You can always ask the Arch-Mage what she thinks about it, though," he chuckled. "She _is_ the Dragonborn's sister, after all."

Singird scoffed a little. His last encounter with the new Arch-Mage had not exactly gone as he had imagined.

"I was actually hoping that there might be a miraculous child among the new students…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

"And that's why you agreed to take the job, I see," Phinis nodded. "You would need an extraordinarily powerful conjurer, though. Aren't you expecting too much of those children?"

"I'd have half of them expelled if it was up to me," the Nord snorted. "Especially Yirith Ravencroft, the useless wimp."

"Wow wow, careful now," Urag raised his head and his eyes met Singird's, their looks colliding in a fierce clash. "You dare touch her and you'll be sorry. That girl is far from useless, she just needs to sort certain things out."

"Ah, I see she's got herself quite a solid fan base," Singird said with a scowl. "Well, she better sort her… things soon or she's out of here."

Urag rose, his eyes gleaming dangerously at the Nord, but Phinis quickly followed him, positioning himself between the two antagonists to prevent a fight.

"Ah, let's all calm down, now," he said, waving his hands at the two of them in attempt to placate them. "Singird, I don't think you need to go that far, you take things too seriously…"

"It's she who doesn't take them seriously enough!"

"Oh, shut up, sourpuss, the baldy's right," Urag cut him of curtly. "Get that lemon make-up off your face, will ya?"

"Baldy?" Phinis shot the orc something between an irked and amused glance, staring at the green skin which presented most of the librarian's head as his white hair was slowly giving way to it.

"Sourpuss?" his pupil joined him, looking like a living definition of the word he had just questioned.

"Ah, never mind," Phinis shook his head abruptly. "Singird, why don't you look at some of the books here? Urag made a copy of one of the Seer's Testaments recently. You know, the ones written by Dorion Trith before the Great Collapse."

"All right," he gave in unwillingly, following the Breton to one of the surrounding alcoves whose space was mostly filled with a desk. A column of books had been raised there, all of them placed carefully so their edges would not overhang. Phinis took the first tome from its top and handed it to Singird. The Nord took it gingerly, opening it on the desk, and examined its contents. It was written in a neat script with elegant curves and thin lines arranged in perfectly straight rows.

"This looks pretty good," Singird acknowledged the work, "especially considering who wrote it."

The orc furrowed his brows and sneered.

"Says the Nord mage," he retorted.

"Clam up, greenskin," the young mage hissed.

"Shut it, saucebox," the orc returned.

Phinis Gestor stared at them, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Just let me know when you two are finished," he sighed. "I'll be down at the Hall of the Elements. In the meantime, maybe you could ask some of the students there to teach you more of an adult approach."

And he left the Arcanaeum, rolling his eyes as the voices of the two faded.

* * *

Yrith was stomping grumpily, fighting her way through the drifts of fresh snow with a bag of fish over her shoulder, her Dunmer classmate in tow.

"All the conjuration assignments," he said in a sweet voice, causing her to speed up despite the difficulties she had in the rough terrain.

"Dream on," she grunted, catching her breath.

"You don't have much choice," he smirked. "I can expose you and…"

She turned to him abruptly, stopping at once so he bumped into her and lost his balance. He caught her robes and they both fell over to the ruffled snow, ending in a bundle of limbs and bodies, covered in snow from top to bottom.

"You kids, what are you doing over there?!" a guard called to them. Yrith rose on her elbows, shaking her head wildly to get rid of the snow in her face. Then she noticed Cain leaning to her, much closer than she would have liked. Smirking, she kicked him in his shin and jumped back on her feet.

"Ouch! Why you…" he snapped at her, brushing the snow off his hair and shoulders. She chuckled at him, noticing how his previously well-groomed spikes of fiery hair had gone down limply, tiny drops of water on their ends.

"You know, I've given it a thought," she told him easily, "and I came to the conclusion you can't give me away."

"Hah. And why not?" he asked with a snort.

"Because your pride couldn't bear exposing someone who is better than you. Especially me." She checked the state of the bag she was carrying with a quick glance and then continued uphill to the College, smiling innocently at the guard. He stood there motionlessly and she was trying to figure what his face was like underneath that bucket-like helmet of his.

"My what?" he snarled in exasperation, once again at her heels. "How dare you talk like you know me?"

"Right," she said. "Then you don't pretend you know _me_. Unlike you, I didn't come here on my own free will. I have no reason to even try to become a mage."

Before she could say another word, he was at her, pushing her down into the snow again. His right hand was on her shoulder while the left one reached for her neck, grabbing it mercilessly until she gasped for air, his eyes gleaming furiously. She dropped the bag on the ground beside her and the stench of dead fish filled her nostrils as it opened.

"You think it was my choice?" he hissed at her dangerously, his hands trembling which made Yrith feel even more uncomfortable. "You think I just packed my things one day and came here, decided to become a mage? Bullshit. You know what? You're a loser. Pathetic loser. Do as you please. I don't care about your secret knowledge or whatever. I just hate people like you who make themselves stand out and act like they're something special. At least I do my best."

With that, he rose and walked away, leaving her to her confused thoughts, lying in the snow with small cloudlets of foam coming out of her mouth, finding herself unable to move. What in Oblivion was that about? For the first time in history, Cain had seemed like a human to her, but she was not sure if she liked it that way. She was used to being insulted by him, but this time it actually stung.

"Are you all right?" she heard a voice above her. Her eyes met two dark holes in a steel bucket-like helmet as she cocked her head backwards to take a look at whomever had spoken to her. "That guy just left… did he try to do anything to you?"

She exhaled and sat up slowly, reaching for the bag and the spilled fish.

"Who knows," she muttered absentmindedly. The guard stood there in silence, apparently not realizing that she could not see his expression beyond the helmet. Finally, she forced herself on her feet, collecting the fish, and staggered to the College.

After depositing the fresh supply of fish in the College kitchen, she made her way to the Hall of the Elements, not really keen on bothering with such small things as her textbook or some paper to take notes on. The gate welcomed her with its usual creaky greeting and then she was pacing through the cold stone foyer and past the fountain, joining her classmates eventually. Restoration was the one thing she did not hate, thinking it harmless, useful even, and so she walked to the lecture with something which could be considered eagerness, not paying attention to her classmates as they showered her with the usual snorts and smirks. Surprised, she watched Cain stand aloof, glaring at his so-called friends as they gathered around the Redguard newcomer, the fresh star and center of all attention. He was charismatic, Yrith had to admit, with the sharp look in his deep blue eyes, with his skinny, yet firm and flexible frame, with the annoyingly captivating braids waving all around his head. There was something odd about him though which she could not quite put her finger on, some kind of mysterious aura enveloping him, and she was sure her classmates felt it too. Was it the fact he was from the dry and merciless land of Hammerfell? But it wasn't by far the first time she had seen a Redguard. Was it his sense of humor? Or the wide smile he was displaying so candidly? Who knows.

Then, he noticed her and waved at her merrily, making her lose her ground for a moment. Why he was being so friendly towards her, she could not understand, but before she could start thinking about it, an elder Breton woman with straw-colored hair plaited in a complicated system of tails and braids entered the room. Yrith had always admired Colette Marence's hairstyle, as the restoration teacher apparently spent quite some time tending to it every day. Despite being rather old, she was still attractive, but for some reason, all the men at the College failed to notice it.

The teacher made her way to the students and glanced over them quickly to check the attendance. Then she spoke in a voice reminiscent of the creaky hinges of the entrance door to the Hall of the Elements. Her voice was the only thing Yrith hated about her.

"Greetings, class," she said. "As you have surely noticed, a new student joined us yesterday. As I prepared some pair work for you, someone will have to pair up with Yrith today, so…"

That's right. She always ended up with the teacher when it came to working in pairs. It seemed that had ended though, and she was certainly not looking forward to being teamed up with some spiteful classmate of hers. She sighed.

"That's all right," the Redguard said, exposing his dazzling white teeth in a wide grin. "I'll pair up with her."

"Are you sure?" Colette asked, a little disconcerted. "She's… not exactly known for her magical prowess…"

"So I heard. But teaming with someone skilled would be boring, right?" he chuckled and gave Yrith a wink. She frowned at his statement, not sure if she should feel pleased or offended.

"Ah, I wanted to team up with you," Leyna whined, tossing her head so her long blonde hair waved around her elegantly.

"You go with Cain," Qassir encouraged. "You like him, right?"

The elegant blonde looked alarmed suddenly, not sure how to respond to him. She blushed a little and Yrith silently mused whether it was because she really did like the complacent Dunmer or because she was embarrassed to be told such a thing. In any case, the Redguard certainly did not bother with discretion. Yrith could not help but feel a little annoyed, as the way he delivered his speech did not allow for much argumentation.

"Okay, then it's settled," Colette concluded and clapped her hands to gain everyone's attention. They meditated for a short while as they always did. Yrith tried to concentrate as they were instructed on the power of her soul, the inner energy that was linked to her body but not quite inseparable from it, but all her attempts resulted in her mind trailing off to the Redguard sitting next to her. She frowned when she realized that, for some reason, she did not want to mess up this time and show him her faults which definitely prevailed over her good points. She sighed and heard him chuckle beside her. Curiously, she opened one eye ever so slightly to take a look at him. He was watching her with an amused expression, and when he noticed her gaze on him, he mouthed something.

 _"_ _Can't concentrate?"_ she deduced.

She replied with a shrug.

His hand reached for hers. She felt the urge to pull away but resisted reluctantly, curious as to how the situation would develop. Then his fingers touched her and slid further. She took a deep breath, thinking of stopping him from continuing, but then his hand ceased its movement, his fingers wrapping around her wrist tightly. She closed her eyes inadvertently, as though some invisible force had made her, and suddenly, a flush of energy flowed into her, clouding her mind in a soothing haze. Eventually, she had forgotten where she was and what she was doing, and no sooner did she open her eyes and gasp in surprise than another clap of Colette's hands announced the end of the meditation.

"What did you do?" she asked Qassir silently, turning her eyes to him.

"Ah, just some harmless trick I learned at home," he said lightheartedly. "It's just directing your energy the right way."

She frowned. Harmless? Not even she was that stupid. If he could trifle with the energy of other people's souls, it could hardly be considered harmless. A step further could be considered necromancy.

"Don't do it again," she grunted.

"But it helped you, right?" he purred. "Hey, I could also…"

"Just don't do it," she cut him off abruptly, not giving him room for argumentation. He wanted to be obtrusive? Well, she didn't know what the deal was, but she had no reason to make it easy for him. He was still a stranger to her, and his friendliness was starting to make her feel nervous. Maybe she was actually cut out to be alone. Too much attention always got the better of her. The Redguard sighed, looking like a lost puppy, and she had a hard time resisting this level of persuasion. But she was determined to prevail.

Their next task was to practice the ward spells in pairs, one person shooting weak and harmless missiles while the other one was supposed to block them with a ward. Yrith first took on the role of the attacker, enjoying that, for once, the strength of her magical missiles was not considered too weak. No one would scold her for not being able to cast a strong fire bolt and everything was in order. But then, she became the defender, and upon failing to cast a proper ward spell for the fourth time, she sighed in resignation. Qassir walked to her, wearing a look full of compassion.

"Don't worry," he told her softly, "not everyone is good right from the start. Take it easy. You feel that clutch of energy around your heart?"

She nodded. This part was easy, she had learnt it a long time ago when studying conjuration.

"Tug at it, pull some of it out and use it, as raw as you can. You don't mix it with any other energy or substance when creating magical shields, it's just you and your own soul. Might be hard at first, but you'll get the gist of it eventually."

Another nod. She might have been told before, but she never really cared. Still, the idea of having to concentrate fully on herself instead of relying on other sources seemed difficult to her. She reached for her soul, felt her stirred emotions, and then touched the dark edge of the subconscious she had always been scared to confront. She pulled away in an instant, keeping her distance. Was this what was holding her from being able to use magic properly? The struggle in her heart that she kept ignoring?

She raised her head to face her teammate who had a rather concerned look in her face, watching her cautiously.

"Are you all right?" he inquired. "You look like you've just had one of those netchling elixirs… you know, the ones that Brelyna brought… heard quite some stories about'em."

She smirked, half amused.

"Let's continue," she proposed.

He nodded and a spray of cute tiny sparks was shot at her. Promptly, she reached for her soul and found the energy, but it stirred and bubbled, drowned in a flood of conflicting emotions, and she retreated, stepping back before the Redguard's spell. She saw him frowning, looking perhaps a little disappointed. She sighed and shook her head.

"Let's try it once more," he said, and there was a hint of something she could not identify in his voice, something that made her shiver ever so slightly. Was it excitement? No, that couldn't be right…

He raised both of his hands and blazing flames enveloped his fingers. She winced at the sight, noticing that the spell looked much stronger than any she had seen anyone use against another person within the walls of the College. But she decided to trust in him. In the end, he looked quite skilled in the arcane arts so he should know how much power he puts in his spells, right?

Then, a fireball shot from the tips of his fingers and charged at her in a blinding speed. She heard sudden screams around her, and for a moment, she saw death embracing her in its cold grip. Her mind went blank and she gasped. That was until she reached for the energy in her soul and spread it in front of her without even stopping to think. It hummed and its edges flickered, a strong stable shield of pure magicka formed before her, absorbing the power of the menacing fiery sphere at once. Then she fell down on her knees with a gasp, covering her mouth with her hands as her classmates gathered around her. Her heart was pounding so fiercely that Qassir's voice sounded faint and distant to her.

"See? I knew you could do it!" she heard. Raising her head, she saw him grinning at her until Colette stepped in her sight.

"This… this…" she stammered and Yrith could only imagine how shocked her teacher must have looked at the moment, standing with her back turned to her, her body trembling heavily. "Detention," she whispered finally. "I will not see this kind of conduct here ever again, or you are out of here before you can say 'netch'. Yrith may be… may _have been_ incompetent, but she is still our student."

"So… do I get to collect fish as well?" Qassir asked.

"I believe two people are more than enough to take care of that," she said sternly.

"Bummer," he sighed as he picked up his backpack. "I was actually looking forward to joining you." He winked at Yrith mischievously and walked away with grace, not a single movement of his revealing that he had just been given a detention. Yrith stared at him in disbelief, unsure of what to make of it all.

* * *

 _Ha! And here you believed I wouldn't continue writing this story. Well, I will. It has one thing in common with Strike – I have thought it through and it's heading a certain direction so I have motivation to go on._

 _Don't mind the slow start, we are getting there, but I really don't want to rush it since I want to work with the characters (which is, I think, something I'm not quite used to and it's about time I learned it) and make them develop nicely. Still, I touched on a lot of things in this chapter and I will reveal more later on._

 _I'm looking forward to any reviews I might get from you. Please, post your opinions, they are important for me. Even if you don't like the story, let me know and tell me why, it might actually give me an idea as to how to improve. I don't mind criticism, as long as it's not just "your story sucks, stop writing and get a life"._

 _Thanks for reading it and also for any potential reviews/favs/follows._

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	3. The Greatest Regret

**Chapter 03: The Greatest Regret**

It was a beautiful night. Masser and Secunda were forming a near perfect eclipse, the latter hiding most of the former, revealing only a thin circle of partially lit craters. They were watching over the still land of Skyrim like a freshly wed pair, surrounded by myriads of glittering diamonds forming a hazy veil of nebula on their background, dominating the sea of dark, lined by the colorful aurora on its edges. It was a once-in-a-lifetime night and Yrith had been looking forward to it for quite some time now, reading books of astronomy, an incomplete collection that the Dwemer had left behind and some proactive wizard had gathered, calculating the position of the moons and certain stars and guessing their names. It wasn't so long after dusk and the Night of wonders would continue for several more hours, and so she turned away from the window she had been leaning to and hopped merrily through the dark room. Opening the door, she entered the small corridor beneath it and made for the only lit room in the house, the golden glow flooding the wooden panels on the floor through the open door.

"He can't have gotten too far," a low, deep voice came from within the room, sounding concerned. "But I'm not certain if it's really him. You know… it's almost been a hundred years. And it's not like he's the same…"

"If we could just ask…" another voice said, this time a little high-pitched and sharper.

"Don't," the deep voice urged. "We can't trust these people…"

"Mom?" Yrith cheeped quietly. "Dad?"

She grabbed the wooden doorframe, looking at the two people bending over a desk full of papers. Flasks of various potions and diverse containers with herbs, bones, eggs and other ingredients were placed on the shelves surrounding the room, except for one corner on the far side where a small alchemy lab was situated along with an enchanting device, a shelf full of soul gems and a door to another room, open just enough to see a book case beneath the entrance. The shelves, desks, tables and larger containers were all made in lacquered wood, decorated with scarce simple carvings of leaves, animal heads and other motifs. There was no gold, no gems and no shimmering decorations in the room, and yet it still looked neat and refined, definitely not something a normal person could afford.

"Do you want to look at the sky with me tonight?" she invited, grinning in anticipation.

"Sweetheart, you know we can't," the woman replied bitterly, tugging a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. Dark eyes and long, beautiful dark hair veiling her slight figure in deep red robes, that was Yrith's mother, and one day, Yrith would have grown the same long hair and exhibit it proudly so everyone would see whose daughter she was.

"But you never do anything with me," the girl complained with an expression of pure sadness. "Just this once, please? There won't be another chance to see something like this."

"Go by yourself, Yrith," the man told her curtly. His short hair had the same black color, only his eyes were like clear blue ice and his face thin, his Mer ancestry apparent in his sharp features, beautifully curved brows and slender frame, albeit a little short, clad in robes of the same color as his eyes with silver lining at the end of the sleeves.

"But…"

"I said go by yourself! Can't you see we're busy?" her father snapped at her, his expression just as cold as his irises and attire.

"Fine!" Yrith retorted, her face red with anger. "Whatever, just choke on your stupid research if it's that important to you! It's not like you ever cared for me anyway!"

"Yrith!" her mother gasped. "Apologize to your father at once!"

"I have nothing to apologize for," the girl hissed in reply, stomping out of the room furiously as she slammed the door behind her. She heard her mother calling to her again before giving up and addressing Yrith's father.

"What shall we do about that child?" was the last thing Yrith heard upon her departure, spoken with both concern and irritation.

She returned to her room, an almost empty place, two bookcases being the only thing that filled at least some of the space inside, sighing upon seating herself on her bed. Then she rose again, walked across the room and pulled out a book. A sheet of paper was carefully inserted between the pages and she took it out and spread it before her.

 _Dear Yrith,_

 _I have read your last letter. It pains me greatly that you're so alone, especially in such a desolate place which Winterhold surely is. I'll take you out as soon as I get there, so hang on until then. In the meantime, try to look at the books I recommended. I bet even your parents would be proud if they discovered that you mastered some magic on your own. And it could keep you busy so you wouldn't feel so lonely. Who knows, maybe a conjured friend would chase away that solitary feeling completely!_

 _Try to be patient, I'm sure they will listen to you one day. And don't forget I'm always with you._

 _Yours_

 _Toddvar_

And maybe he was right, she thought to herself. Maybe she just needed to keep herself occupied. She had indeed read some magical theory and all the books on conjuration that her parents had in their library, which was by no means a small number, and memorized most of them. How she wanted to share tonight with someone… anyone.

She nodded to herself and exited the room again, striding towards the house entrance. She stopped for a moment when she heard some movement from the kitchen, something reminiscent of an almost soundless step, but it ceased in an instant and she shrugged. Maybe it was just the wind outside, or a chunk of snow slid down from the roof and buried itself in the drift below. Or perhaps a skeever made the place its temporary home. Then she remembered the two occasions that her family had been robbed by the Thieves Guild. Her parents had ignored it, not wanting to antagonize the Guild since nothing of particular value had been stolen. She was positive that they had ties with it in order to keep themselves informed of the affairs in Skyrim and outside of it as well. She wouldn't be surprised if one of them showed up again.

Taking a coat from a peg beside the entrance door, she walked outside, made her way to a nearby cliff and inhaled the stinging cold air, filling her lungs with freshness that sent vibes of new energy through her body. She let out a content sigh, watching the snow that shimmered in light blue under the pale twin moons. They looked like a huge eyeball, one hovering over another, and she admired them for a moment before deciding that this view wasn't meant for a single person.

Remembering the words in one of the books, she stretched out her arms and concentrated on her inner energy. She had practiced that before, just so she could locate it and make sure it really worked, so reaching for her soul was not that much of a problem to her. The next step was new to her, though, and so she repeated the phrases from the book several times in her head before spreading her conscious even further, beyond the realm of this world, and creating a passage for her new companion. She felt the creature responding, rushing towards her eagerly as though it was trying to escape some dreadful place it had been held at, and then it emerged before her, a beautiful blazing figure, floating gracefully a few inches above the ground. Her lips curled in a wide smile as she clapped her hands and jumped out like an overjoyed child.

"Hi there," she said merrily, studying the elegant body cautiously. It was definitely a woman's body, ethereal and faceless, watching her in absolute silence with its horned head turned to her. She knew her summon could not exactly communicate, but could not help feeling slightly happy that someone kept her company. That was until the creature turned around abruptly, darting towards her house so quickly that the only thing Yrith could make out was a blinding line of fiery light. She exclaimed inarticulately and followed it at once, catching her breath as she tried to keep up with it.

The atronach entered the house and a couple of loud cracks shook the ground, followed by an explosion which sent a beam of blinding light through the windows. Then a cacophony of screams echoed through the still of the night and even more beams ensued.

Yrith ran as fast as she could, horror displaying in her wide open eyes which were misting with tears against the cold wind. Finally, she made it to the entrance door. There was one last explosion and then everything went silent. She stared at the corridor before her, holding her breath as her eyes followed the trail of the scorched ground. It spread into a few large stains at the kitchen entrance which was now open, the singed pieces of the wooden door wing scattered around it, and continued to the laboratory. Yrith walked slowly, her mind processing the images flowing before her eyes reluctantly, not wanting to believe what she saw. Then she reached the room and stopped just before the entrance, her feet increasing in weight and refusing to take her further. She forced herself to take the next few steps and focus on what was in front of her.

Silence took over her, the dreadful, paralyzing kind of stillness as though the time had stopped and she ceased her breath. Then it felt suffocating, a hard lump settling in her throat, spreading and pressing and taking all the space it could. A stab came through her heart, piercing harder than the finest white-hot steel. And then her voice tore through the heavy, burnt air with deafening force.

Before her lay the singed remains of what once were her parents' bodies, drowning in a flood of potions fallen from the shelves and blanketed in shards of shattered vials, sparkling slightly in the moonlight that came through the broken window. The furniture was black and deformed as the lacquer covering it had melted in the fire, the once beautiful decorations now vague and vitiated. A foul odor filled her nostrils and she didn't even try to chase it away.

Her knees gave way under her trembling weight and she fell on them, covering her face with her hands, shaking with sobs.

"No…" she whispered shakily. "Please… don't die… tell me you're not dead… please… someone help me…"

Then her whole body felt heavy and she fell face to the ground, soaking her hair in the potions mixed with dirt and cinders, the countless pieces of glass cutting into her skin.

"I killed my parents," she wailed, choking on her words. "I yelled at them… and then killed them… please… someone… kill me…"

Her chest felt tight and she wished she just ceased existing that very moment. And then all went dark.

* * *

Yirith screamed and sat up abruptly, beads of sweat rising on her forehead.

"For all the Daedra out there, calm down, midget!" a voice issued and she felt someone grab her by her shoulders and shake her violently.

She opened her eyes in confusion, breathing heavily, and stared for a moment before realizing that a fiery-haired Dunmer was sitting next to her on her bed, watching her attentively. She jerked and backed away, her back bumping into the wall behind her.

"You," she hissed, trying to hide her embarrassment. "What in Oblivion are you doing here?"

"That's my line," he grumbled dryly. "Right now you're supposed to be attending Larkwing's class. I'm only here because he sent me to get you and I'm not enjoying it one bit."

"As if you ever enjoyed anything beside bragging in front of your classmates," she uttered with exasperation. "Get out of my room. Now."

"I'm not leaving until you get that butt of yours out of the bed and move it to the Hall of the Elements. I don't want another detention. _Especially_ not with you!"

"Wanna watch me change then?" she sneered, one corner of her mouth twitching in emphasis.

"Ew! Fine, I'm going!" he retorted as her rose and made for the door. "I'll be waiting right outside your room."

"No peeking," she warned.

"Who would want to peek at _you_?" he shook his head and left the room.

Yrith opened a chest at the feet of her bed and took a novice robe out of it, replacing it with the night robes she had been wearing until now. She watched it with a scrutinizing look for a while before taking it on, examining the stitched sleeve and the few stains she had not managed to wash away. She might want to buy a new one, but that would require coin and she had not had that luxury ever since her parents had died. She scowled and sighed, remembering her dream. Just how many times had she relived it already, the pain of that moment always coming back to her, making her despise herself above all else. Maybe it would have been better if she had just died out there, if Lady Faralda had not come and dragged her away from that place, trembling and on the edge of crying her eyes out.

 _Maybe my parents saw right through me and that's why they didn't bother talking to me,_ she contemplated silently. _Maybe they had realized long before that, that I was a good-for-nothing. A useless wimp who can't even use magic properly…_

"What's taking you so long?!" a voice from the outside called to her. "Are you sewing a new robe for yourself or what?"

"I'm coming," she grumbled, suppressing the welling tears from surfacing. Grabbing a quill and a few sheets of paper, she hurried out of the room. Cain was sitting on the edge of the magical fountain in the center of the round main chamber, his usual smug smile curling slightly on his lips. He rose without a word, accompanying her in silence, but she noticed his eyes fixed on her face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she snarled at him sharply. "Is there something on my face?"

"Yeah, a drool on your chin," he smirked.

"What?!" she grimaced and her hand shot up, rubbing the skin under her mouth.

"Oh, and a spider in your hair," he continued and his smile widened as he watched her shocked expression. Her fingers dug in her mop fiercely, searching for the nasty eight-legged creature, but only managed to tousle it into a chaotic mass of tangled strands without finding anything. Then she stopped and looked at him indignantly.

"You stupid fatty trollhead!" she lashed out. "There's no such thing. Spiders can't even live here in this cold."

"But you fell for it anyway," he scoffed at her, his derisive grin infuriating her even further. She turned away from him angrily, snorting as she stomped her way outside and on to the Hall of the Elements and combed her hair with her fingers in the process. He followed her in tow but she refused to look back at him until they joined the circle of students waiting for them. Singird Larkwing was standing next to a slight girl with light brown hair plaited into a braid pulled to the front over her left shoulder. Yrith was bad with names and did not exactly care about her classmates, but she had a feeling that her name was Tanya, a half-Altmer, half-Imperial. Upon their arrival, the teacher gave Yrith a reproachful look, his eyes narrowing into a pair of dangerous cracks.

"I don't suppose you were looking for a textbook this time, Miss Ravencroft," he told her coolly. "Mind enlightening me in terms of your delayed arrival?"

She looked up, clenching her fists as she realized he was mocking her yet again, knowing fully well that she couldn't make up a lie in front of Cain who knew the truth.

"I slept in," she muttered in a choked voice. A half-truth. In fact, she had not been planning to attend the class at all.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked quietly. Yrith stared at him, cursing him with every Daedra name she could recall. Gods knew that he had heard her well.

"I am sorry," she said unconvincingly, making it sound more like a hiss. "I slept in and didn't wake up until just a while ago."

She could hear her classmates whispering among themselves and chuckling silently.

"Very well," he sighed. "I guess it would be too much to expect you brought your homework with you?"

She decided against giving him an answer, her gaze now fixing on the floor underneath her feet. Any word she let out would add up to her humiliation which was already getting under her skin. He waited for just a moment before addressing the whole class:

"As I explained earlier, today you will begin learning how to summon atronachs. Fire atronachs are the most common and easiest to conjure, so it's best to start with them. All of you should be able to summon a familiar now, but familiars answer to even the weakest calls. This time, try to combine the things you wrote in your essays and my instructions to grasp the basics about the Oblivion elementals. I will be correcting your mistakes in the process and instructing you on how to proceed. Start practicing now."

"Look what you did," Cain snapped quietly at Yrith. "I missed his explanation. How am I supposed to practice now?"

"I could care less," she snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Not my problem, really."

"You're unbelievable…"

There was a humming sound and then a number of ah's and oh's rose from the crowd. The two of them turned their heads to the source of the commotion, spotting a slender figure of a fire atronach, floating in circles elegantly in front of Qassir who was now the center of all attention.

"Excellent work," Singird nodded in acknowledgement. "This is what I like to see. Now everyone else try."

"How does he even do that?" Cain whined. "I really hate geniuses like him. Is there something he _can't_ do?"

"Jealous?" Yrith smirked.

"Oh shut up," he grumbled and turned away. She watched him try a few times before he slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "This is all your fault," he pointed a blaming finger at her.

"Hey!" she defended but was interrupted by the approaching Nord teacher.

"Good try," he told the Dunmer, "but try to better direct your energy. If you feel insecure, spread your legs and take a firm stance, as if you wanted to fight with a sword. It helps you concentrate."

Cain nodded in silence and followed Singird's instructions, his brows furrowing in concentration. The teacher strode away, leaving the two of them behind, and Yrith continued watching him, slight amusement framing her face.

"Stop grinning like an idiot," he hissed at her. She gave him a sigh.

"It helps if you try to imagine that you're a part of Oblivion," she said quietly.

"What?"

"Like, instead of directing a certain thought to Oblivion, you spread your whole conscious. Realms are not only physical, they have a mental aspect too. It's enough to touch its edge. Then imagine the creature you want to summon and call for it. Since your mind will already be a part of Oblivion, it'll be easier for it to come and less work for you too."

He frowned.

"Did you come up with this yourself?" he questioned.

"Who knows," she shrugged evasively.

He took a deep breath and she could almost feel him focusing on his soul, spreading the energy as she had instructed. Not long after, a blazing figure emerged in front of him and his eyes widened in surprise. Yrith heard her classmates clapping their hands as they turned to the Dunmer. Singird whirled to him, nodding approvingly, but his eyes were cold, studying the fiery creature with a contemplative look. Then, his eyes fixed on Yrith and she froze.

"Interesting," the teacher said slowly. "I would very much like to know what Miss Ravencroft here told you, that made you master the elemental conjuration in a blink of an eye."

The Dunmer opened his mouth but Yrith cut in quickly.

"I just told him that I don't get how people can summon a creature from some weird faraway place when we don't even know where it is," she murmured, "and he suddenly looked like he found some long lost wisdom and did… this."

Cain stared at her, hardly concealing his disbelief. The black-haired Nord raised one brow, an unspoken question displaying in his eyes. The lie didn't work.

"I'm having you come with me to the Arcanaeum after class," the teacher ordered Yrith sternly. "Your attitude is very… disappointing. Either you write your essay there, in front of my eyes, or I'm having you expelled for sabotaging my class."

She gasped, torn between rage and fear, dreading what Lady Faralda might think of this while cursing the hateful Nord. How dare he!

"What part of this is sabotaging?!" she objected fiercely, her face twisting in an aggrieved grimace. "I might not be the best student and I won't lie and say I like it here, but I'm not trying to sabotage anything!"

"Then what's your problem?" he asked her silently, closing the distance between them and bending down so his eyes were now a few inches from hers. She felt like punching him for invading her personal space, but found herself unable to move. Both of them jerked when a loud crack announced that Cain's atronach had returned to Oblivion, but kept gazing at each other nonetheless.

"What's _your_ problem?!" she squeaked, her voice suffocating. "What did I do to make you hate me so much?!"

Singird pressed his lips together tightly, giving her a hard look before turning to the rest of the students, staring at them, holding their breath in suspense.

"Dismissed," he said curtly. "All of you get out immediately. Except for you," he pointed a finger back at Yrith before she could grasp the opportunity and flee from his wrath. The students packed their things hastily and left the room, and heavy silence fell upon the place, until Singird's quiet voice broke it.

"I hate when people lie to me," he breathed. "The day before yesterday, I went downtown to have a drink with a friend. And guess what? I chanced upon a guard asking me if you and the Dunmer kid were all right. Do you know why?"

She shook her head.

"He saw you fight an ice wraith. Or, to be precise, he saw a flame atronach fight an ice wraith for you. Well, you may be clever, but not clever enough. True, I first thought it was the Dunmer who had summoned it, but he couldn't do it today in class, and he doesn't look like someone who would be secretive about his talents. He was only able to do it after you'd talked to him. I want to know your motive for hiding the truth, and I would much advise you to cooperate."

She stared at him, her heart sinking and her feet heavy and immobile as two pillars of stone. This could not be happening. What convincing lie would she have to tell him in order to escape punishment?

"Fine, I can summon an atronach," she said hoarsely, fighting a lump in her throat. "I read some books and tried it in the past. But this time, I only did it to save Cain. I don't want to do it again."

"What kind of excuse is that?" he hissed dangerously. "Do you think I'm going to buy such a cheap story?"

 _A cheap story, yeah,_ she thought to herself bitterly. _While I actually decided to tell him the truth… albeit a little trimmed._

"I'm not lying," she defended helplessly.

"Will you tell that to the school committee?" he asked quietly. "The punishment for betrayal is severe."

Yrith was on the verge of crying. Betrayal or murder… in the end, there really wasn't much difference between the two, maybe except for the way she would be executed. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and backed away inadvertently, bumping into the wall behind her. What will Lady Faralda say when she learns she had been able to summon a flame atronach all that time? Suddenly the scene of singed walls and scorched bodies would make sense to her, and she would give her one of those painful, disappointed looks of hers. It would be one of the last things she would see before her death.

She looked at his merciless face, her expression dark and somber, and then she closed her eyes in silent resignation.

 _"_ _I will die hating you and cursing you to Oblivion,"_ she wanted to say, but she stopped herself before doing so.

 _In this age, when war is raging out there and everyone fears for their life, his approach is only understandable,_ she concluded in her thoughts, silently forcing herself to understand reason. _There was the Mannimarco incident in Cyrodiil, the Great Collapse, the Eye of Magnus, vampires are raiding the cities and spreading their curse, bandits ravaging the land, dragons swooping down on the masses, so many dangers waiting to strike at the right moment. Who am I to judge him? I, a murderer, and no more than a dangerous suspect to him._

"I guess I deserve it," she whispered at last, exhaling deeply as she realized she had been holding her breath.

"What are you plotting?" he pressed, dissatisfied with her answer.

"Nothing," she said remorsefully. "The damage has already been done. I'm a murderer."

"Who was it?"

Despite her resolve, tears finally managed to surface in her eyes and slide down her cheeks in a pair of thin, glistening streaks.

"My parents," she breathed. He winced.

"What?" he gasped. "Why? Why would you do such a thing?"

"I didn't… want to…" she stammered between the sobs. "I was bored and I just tried to conjure an atronach… and it went right ahead and killed them. I couldn't stop it, I couldn't do anything! I just wanted to die right then and there…"

Yrith did not notice the confused look on Singird's face as he beckoned to a bench, inviting her to sit down. She nodded and sank to her seat weakly, shaking as the tears kept flowing.

"Tell me what exactly happened," he ordered. She looked at him wearily, shaking her head.

"You got what you wanted," she muttered. "Go ahead and have me executed. I'm not telling you more than I have to."

"Unfortunately, you have to," he uttered, his voice ice-cold and just as hard. "Don't make it harder for yourself."

"Fine!" she snapped gruffly. "You really enjoy humiliating people, don't you?! Even if you defend the College, you're a monster!"

He frowned but let the insult slide without a comment.

"I was outside, standing on a cliff and watching the sky. I wanted to watch it with my parents but they wouldn't come, so I just summoned an atronach. I'd read so much about it that I just decided to try. And it got out of hand. That thing just went into my house, nearly smashed it to smithereens and killed my parents. It was gone when I got there, and… and they were…"

She buried her face in her hands, refusing to look at her teacher. Silence broke out, interrupted only by her silent sobs, and then he spoke, his tone a tad softer.

"Was there anyone else in the house?"

"No, luckily…" she replied shakily.

"Are you absolutely positive? And no one was around? You didn't meet anyone on your way out or in the house?"

"I don't know. I didn't exactly pay attention… maybe there was someone…"

"Show me how you did it."

"What?" she blurted out, her tears suppressed by the suddenness of the request.

"Show me how you conjure an atronach," he urged.

"Now?"

"Yes."

She rose involuntarily, taking a deep breath and stretching her arms. A moment later, a familiar silent blazing figure emerged in front of her, dancing gracefully on the spot. Singird rose as well, studying it cautiously, arms at the ready in case something went wrong, but everything seemed to work as it should.

"This is what you did back then?" he asked her. She nodded, her lips pressed together tightly.

"Did you hate your parents?" he continued his questioning, causing her to raise her head abruptly.

"By the Eight, no!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening. He nodded pensively, his eyes still on the elemental.

"I will not tell anyone," he told her and her eyes widened even more, "if you promise me something."

She kept silent, waiting for him to continue, unable to believe that this person would decide to trust her after everything she had demonstrated during the short time he had been at the College.

"You will stop running away. Work hard, harder than anyone, and become someone the College could be proud of."

She looked into his eyes. There was something he wasn't telling her, but if these were his conditions, then she could probably live with that. Did he have some ulterior motive? Perhaps, but she would live for now… and there was always time to worry about that later. In her mind, she snorted bitterly. Despite what she had felt like on that terrible day, she had clung to life, to her miserable existence where nothing went right, and she was ready to continue doing that.

"What about my classmates?" she asked, turning her gaze back to the ground beneath her.

"I'll take care of that," he said in a reassuring voice.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Wariness replaced the resignation in her voice, returning a great deal of her usual aloofness.

"I wonder, really," he scowled wryly. "A part of 'stopping running away' could include getting rid of this attitude of yours."

She pursed her lips in a rebellious grimace and he sighed.

"Very well," he said at last. "I believe you have homework to do, and since you apparently know quite a lot about the subject, I'm not letting you off until you present me with a perfect job."

"I thought that was only to create an opportunity to make me confess!" she whined.

"Work hard, remember?" he smirked at her with a trace of triumph in his expression. "I intend to make sure you keep your promise. Do keep in mind that I can always give you a detention. Oh, and don't plan on doing any manual labor for tonight," he added in warning. "Your hand is going to hurt."

She stared at him incredulously. In the end, this guy was still a monster.

* * *

 _Hmmm… tell me what you think about this chapter. It's a little different from what I originally planned, but it doesn't go against the plot that I have in mind, so hopefully it works this way too. Even though I'm not too confident about it. The more I concentrate on my studies, the less I can focus on my fanfictions and that basically spoils it. I try to write at least half a page every day so I don't fall off completely, but you know how it goes._

 _Thanks for reading it and stay tuned._

 _Mirwen_


	4. The Mysterious Tome

**Chapter 04: The Mysterious Tome**

The sound of resolute footsteps echoed through the Arcanaeum, the flames of the candles flickering wildly as the tall Nord teacher entered the round room with Yrith in tow. Only endless murk was visible through the tall windows as a storm was raging to the fullest outside, drowned by the dim light cast by the candles and scarce lamps hanging from the high ceiling. Phinis Gestor was seated by one of the tables on the lowered platform in the center, his eyes fixed on a book as usual, and the Orsimer librarian was leaning comfortably on his desk across from the entrance, studying some documents laid over a number of books beneath. Both of them raised their heads as the two newcomers made their way to the hall, staring at them inquisitively. Singird Larkwing stopped a few steps before Urag's desk, throwing a somewhat derisive glance at the disorderly pile of papers.

"Now there's a strange company," the orc uttered, the edge of his mouth twitching as he watched them approach. "What can I do for you today?"

"I believe Miss Ravencroft here will need some books on conjuration for her homework," the teacher smirked.

"I see," Urag nodded and then turned to Yrith. "You can find them on that table over there," he told her, waving his hand toward the table opposite the one Phinis was sitting at. "I figured you might be coming since your classmates used them previously, so I just left them there."

"Thank you," she mumbled while Singird walked to the table and quickly sifted through the number of tomes that lay there. He raised his head afterwards, smiling slightly.

"You won't need these," he told her. "Perhaps something a little more advanced would do… like _The Threshold of Oblivion_ or _Two Minds in One_."

Urag raised a brow. "Are you kidding me?"

"I am dead serious, thank you for asking," the Nord stated dryly. "Are you going to question my teaching methods now?"

"If you don't mind my asking," Phinis joined the conversation, "how did you come to the conclusion that someone like Yrith can actually read such difficult literature? The last I remember, she could not conjure a familiar properly."

"Let's just say I had a few words with her," Singird shrugged simply. Then he took a few steps to his master and bent down to get closer to him. "A person can do wonders if given the right leadership," he whispered to him mysteriously. The conjuration master stared at him incredulously for a moment before nodding slowly.

"I am becoming curious about the fruits of your labor," he told him with a smile.

"So am I," came the cryptic reply. The Nord watched as Urag strode to one of the remote shelves and recovered several tomes, handing them to Yrith who seated herself, spreading them over her lap. She opened one of them, immediately becoming absorbed by its contents.

"She seems to have a thing for books," the conjuration teacher commented after a moment of silence. "I never imagined she could become like this."

"She's not a bad girl," Phinis chuckled. "Just a little stubborn, I'd say. She never really wanted to study magic, as far as I know, but the sudden death of her parents didn't leave her with much choice."

"And that's where I think you're wrong," Singird opposed in the same mysterious tone as before. "Say, Master Gestor, can I have a word with you?"

"Anytime, dear Sing, anytime," the elder said. He put his book aside, his lips curling in a subtle smile as he watched his former student arrange it neatly on top of a pile of other books, brushing it gently to wipe off the dust that had settled on its surface. The Nord pointed to the entrance corridor then, and they walked away together, heading for one of the doors to the terrace.

"I will be coming to collect your homework later," he called to Yrith on his way. "Don't you dare slack off while I'm away."

She muttered something unintelligible under her breath and he was not quite sure if she had even listened, but he considered it a good thing for now, seeing how intense her focus on the book was.

The two conjurers exited the Arcanaeum then, only to be welcomed by a harsh stinging snow swirling all around their frames. Despite the early hours, it was so dark that Singird could swear the night was about to fall, the thick clouds casting gloomy shadows over the frozen land of Winterhold. The air was grey with frost and there was no way the roaring waters of the Sea of Ghosts could be seen through this blizzard.

"I am not sure about the choice of the place," Phinis shouted, his voice muffled despite his effort to emphasize it by cupping his hands around his mouth.

Singird darted forward without an answer, making his way to a roofed watchtower with a bench. The Breton followed him closely, bending against the snow whipping his cheeks mercilessly, until both of them propped themselves against the stone pillars supporting the roof, breathing heavily. The roof did not help much since the wind blew the snow inside through the large circular windows without filling, but a slight feeling of being protected somehow made its way to their hearts nevertheless. The Nord grinned at his teacher.

"It's been a while since we last did this," he laughed.

"You Nords and your love for… this," Phinis threw up his arms helplessly. "And one would think that someone as organized as you would not enjoy such mayhem."

"Fresh air is important for your health," the Nord countered as if that justified everything. "Anyway, I thought it better to make sure that there's absolutely no one who could hear us."

"What's wrong?" the Breton asked, knitting his brows in apprehension.

"Say, is it possible to lose control over a conjured creature?" Singird replied with a question. His master snorted.

"What kind of question is that?" he exclaimed. "Really now, I would expect a beginner to ask such a thing, not a proficient master such as yourself, a genius on top of that."

"Just pretend I'm a beginner for a while, I need to hear the answer," his student insisted with a frown.

"Of course it's impossible. Even if they come from Oblivion, the moment you manage to summon them into this plane, they are linked to your soul and they have to fulfill the contract."

"I thought so," he nodded with a contemplative sigh.

"So? Will you finally enlighten me on what's going on?"

"You won't tell anyone if I tell you, right?"

"Seriously, Sing, would you have called me here if you didn't trust me enough to tell me?" Phinis asked with a raised brow. The Nord chuckled silently.

"Did you know that Ravencroft was skilled enough to teach that Dunmer child to conjure a flame atronach in five seconds?"

"Okay, an interesting piece of information, especially considering she has managed to conceal that from everyone in the College until now," the Breton mused, "but how is it connected to your question?"

"Let's say I was pretty harsh with her…"

"And that means something, coming from you…"

"… and made her tell me the whole story. I suspected she was plotting something, because why else bother keeping such a thing a secret?" Singird blinked as a stray snowflake entered his eye and blurred his vision.

"And?"

"She told me she'd killed her parents."

The elder's eyes widened in shock and his jaw dropped. He quickly closed his mouth again, wiping the fresh layer of snow off his lips, and then a slightly reproachful expression replaced the surprise in his face.

"And you let her go? Just like that?" he snapped.

"Wait, that's not all," the Nord defended. "I pressed her for details and she told me that she had tried to summon an atronach just for fun. Apparently she was outside at that moment. Then the creature got out of hand, went inside the house and attacked her parents. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I have no reason to think she was lying to me."

"But I just told you…"

"Yes, I know. But she doesn't seem like someone who would just go and kill her parents. Do you know anything about them?"

"You'd have to ask Faralda about that, she used to be friends with them," the master sighed. "I only remember her shocked face when she brought that crying girl here almost a year ago. According to her, they were researchers of some kind and one of their experiments went horribly wrong, costing them their life."

"Which would be quite some coincidence if it happened right after her summon got out of hand," Singird muttered with a frown, staring at the murky grey covering the land below in an impenetrable curtain of frozen moisture.

"So what's your theory?"

"That she must have been framed by someone."

His teacher laughed incredulously. "You're joking, right? Framed? How? How would anyone know that she would try to summon a flame atronach?"

"It didn't have to be a flame atronach," Singird shook his head. "That person could have just waited until she conjured _any_ creature. But my thought is that a summon cannot get violent unless…"

"… unless it spots an enemy, regardless of whether the conjurer is aware of them or not," Phinis Gestor concluded the textbook sentence, his gaze focusing pensively on a crevice between the large stone tiles beneath his feet. He shivered with cold and rubbed his hands against each other in a vain effort to warm himself. "Do you realize that if that person's intention was not to kill Yrith, then it must have been someone powerful enough to make it seem like they would? I believe Drevis would pay a fortune to learn a mind-controlling spell like that."

"And that's what really disturbs me," the Nord said with a concerned look in his face. "Imagine someone like that being at the College. It could even be someone we know."

"What if that girl did kill her parents, Singird?" his teacher questioned, his eyes now filled with unconcealed compassion.

"I refuse to consider that an option," Singird refuted, folding his arms in a resolute gesture.

"Last time I remember, you pretty much despised her," Phinis objected. "What made you change your mind?"

"Nothing," his companion muttered, but only gained a laugh to his address.

"Who do you think you're talking to? I've known you for some time, don't try to fool me."

"Fine," the Nord gave in. "I think she might be just the person I'm looking for."

Phinis sighed. "Don't get your hopes up too high," he warned. "Why are you so obsessed with that ritual anyway? It's not like you can change anything by… you know."

"I'm missing an important piece of information. And I'm not giving up until I get it."

"I wish you luck then," the elder told him, his voice low in resignation. "Maybe we could head back now, because I don't know about you, but I can't stand how the cold is getting under my skin."

"Okay. I wonder if Ravencroft has finished her homework yet."

"As I said," Phinis commented with a chuckle, "don't get your hopes up too high."

Singird shook his head helplessly at that, his hair whipping his face as the wind gusted against his back when he finally left the watchtower and set for the Arcanaeum.

Upon entering the round chamber with shadows dancing on its walls and cold stone floor, cast by the flickering candlelight, he froze, his eyes fixed on the image before him. The retired teacher joined him shortly, laughing as he watched his former apprentice.

"I told you," he chuckled in amusement. The Nord snorted.

Urag gro-Shub sat at his desk in his usual demeanor, quiet, studying various texts as though time was of small importance to him. He spared just a single, curt glance for the incoming pair before returning to his papers, ignoring everything including the girl seated in the armchair just a few feet from him, who was currently sleeping with her forehead pressed to the book that was propped against her knees.

Singird pointed a finger at the orc librarian and an angry vein popped up on his temple, wrinkling his handsome face.

"You!" he grunted hoarsely, his Nord nature exhibiting itself in his voice. "Why didn't you wake her up? Can't you be at least a little bit helpful?"

"Well," Urag drawled, unbothered by the accusing tone directed at him, "I just thought she looked cute like that."

"Cu… are you for real?!"

"Nah, truth be told, I'm a goblin from a fairytale," the orc said calmly.

Phinis's eyes traced another angry vein on his student's forehead. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that he was about to bare his teeth.

"Can't you two just settle down over a jug of mead or something?" he groaned helplessly.

"Look at her," Singird sneered sarcastically, ignoring his master's plea. "She's drooling on your book."

"Wha…" the orc looked alarmed for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. "Yeah, right," he uttered wryly. "If she was really drooling, you of all people wouldn't be so calm about it, clean freak."

"Clean freak?" the younger conjurer hissed. "You…"

A muffled voice interrupted them suddenly as the subject of their conversation opened her eyes and shifted in her chair.

"What?" she muttered, confused. "Did I fall asleep?"

Singird strode to her seat in a slow, reserved pace, making sure she heard his every step as he approached.

"Did I fall asleep?" he repeated after her affectedly. "As if you didn't have enough sleep in the first place!" he roared. "Your homework, Miss Ravencroft?"

She raised her head and their eyes met, her innocent look fighting the furious glance of her teacher.

"Uh, you see, I kind of…" she smiled at him sheepishly.

"Yes, I _can_ see that," he whispered dangerously. "That laid-back attitude of yours is seriously annoying. Start working. Now."

"But I have alteration soon…" she whined, shooting a look at an hourglass standing on Urag's desk.

He stared at her in disbelief.

"You must be seriously joking," he exhaled, trying to chase away his irritation.

"Technically, she can't be seriously joking, since it's an oxymoron," the librarian interjected, clearly taking pleasure in infuriating the Nord even further.

"Shut up, you troll-brained balding greenskin!" the conjurer bellowed. Yrith stared at them with open interest, fighting the urge to laugh.

She stood up, picking up her book, and used the paper she had intended to write her essay on as a bookmark. She added it to the small pile of books on the table and turned to Urag.

"Can I take these with me?" she asked.

"Go ahead," he nodded. "Didn't expect you to be so diligent."

"You call _this_ diligent?" the Nord teacher snorted, pointing a trembling finger at the girl.

"Believe me, I've never seen Yrith take home any study material," Urag said with a grin.

"Since when do you allow people to take books out of the library anyway?"

"Yrith wouldn't dare harm a book of mine, so I let her."

"So is it okay if I take a few with me?" Singird asked innocently.

"Absolutely…" the orc gave him an angelic smile, which was quite a performance with his brutish appearance, but then it shifted into a sly grin, "… not."

"Right," the Nord uttered dryly. He watched his student stop by Urag's desk and grab one of the boxes that lay around it, carefully placing the books inside. She paused for a while, as if looking for something, and then she lifted her freshly acquired luggage.

"I'll be off then," she informed with a slight bow, fighting the weight of the box.

"Bring the homework to the Hall of Countenance by tonight," her teacher told her sternly.

"Okay," she nodded, causing him to grant her a doubtful look. "See ya, Urag," she smiled at the librarian and then she disappeared from their sight.

"Do you think I'll ever get to read it?" Singird addressed his former master. "Her homework, I mean," he added when Phinis gave him a curious look.

The Breton laughed, leaving the question unanswered.

* * *

Yrith walked down the narrow stairway, trying to tug her coat closer to her body to warm herself up. The Hall of the Elements was empty save for experimenting J'zargo who, for some inexplicable reason, kept firing sparks and orbs of light at the tall stone walls. He nodded to her in greeting as she passed, obviously pleased to be able to demonstrate his magical prowess to an observer, be it just the academy's laughingstock. Yrith knew him to be ambitious, aiming for the spot of the Arch-Mage, but strictly sticking to rules nevertheless. In a way, he was a subject of her admiration, for he always expressed his opinions freely without worrying what others would say or think about it, but for some reason, his ways were always accepted.

 _Maybe because he is actually capable of casting a spell,_ she reminded herself sourly.

She shook the thought off and hurried outside, lowering her head against the howling wind. Quickly pacing across the courtyard, she entered the Hall of Attainment, stopping at the threshold as she spotted her classmates being gathered around the fountain again. This time, Cain was standing at the center, but his expression didn't look in the least happy. Surprisingly, Qassir stood aloof, watching the crowd from the sidelines, seemingly disinterested to everything that was happening. The moment Yrith came in, however, the crowd surrounded her immediately.

"Hey, Yrith!" a bronze-furred Khajiit girl called to her affectedly, her whiskers twitching. "Is it true what they say? Are you a hidden genius?"

Yrith froze in place, staring at the girl in suspicion. Was she mocking her? Or was she truly trying to praise her? She didn't have a good feeling about either and the only thing she wanted right now was to get in her room and bury herself in books. For once, she was honestly thinking of doing an assignment.

"You know," a small Altmer boy with crème-colored wavy hair and a surprisingly smug look in his face that didn't match the rest of his appearance drawled, "rumor has it that you taught Cain how to conjure."

"Didn't you actually teach him _everything_?" a Bosmer boy with dark, curly family tattoo on his left cheek joined the questioning duo with a snort. "You did show us you can actually cast an awesome shield. You helped Cain, right? And then he laughed at you and you kept quiet about it."

"Isn't he horrible?!" someone exclaimed.

"You must have felt so lonely!" another voice issued.

Yrith was at a loss for words, unable to respond with anything but confusion in her face. She studied the faces of her classmates, the smiles on their lips and compassionate voices, and then her eyes drifted to the helpless fiery-haired Dunmer, looking somewhat ragged and weary, and the Redguard leaning on the wall nearby, looking at the scene without revealing any of his emotions.

Had Cain told them her secret? Had he actually taken all the blame? No, it didn't seem like that. Rumor has it, that boy had said. They must have jumped to a conclusion because of what had happened previously in the conjuration class. And now they were trying to become her friends. They wanted to accept her. Urag would be happy… but… but…!

She felt her blood boil and clenched her fists unconsciously. These were the people who had been Cain's friends not too long ago, and now they were trying to befriend her, casting him away like a used piece of clothing. The mere look at them made her feel sick, twisting her face with disgust. She took a deep breath.

"Get out of my way," she snarled.

"Come on, we're trying to help…"

"I said get out of my way!" she yelled, flames of fury blazing in her eyes. "You're making me sick and I have nothing to tell you!"

"What's your problem?!" the Khajiit girl who had addressed her previously snapped. "We are on your side! Trying to help you!"

"Ah, calm down, Ha'risha, she's probably just confused because we've been so harsh with her until now… but it's okay, you can talk to us now," the Bosmer boy said with a grin.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Yrith breathed dangerously, this time lifting her hands as though she was trying to cast a spell. The rest of her class backed away abruptly, staring at her in shock.

Yrith stomped her way to her room without another word, her eyes hovering over Cain who looked slightly taken aback, seemingly unsure of how to approach the whole situation, until they turned away and met Qassir's gaze. She resisted the urge to freeze in her place again, as the braided Redguard was exhibiting a mysterious smile. She knew it was directed at her, and unlike the rest of her classmates, his expression looked genuinely forthcoming. She broke off the eye contact with her willpower and disappeared behind the walls of her chamber.

 _Ah,_ she thought as she put the box she had been holding on the ground and threw herself on her bed, _I did something incredible._

She stared at the grey walls made in large blocks of stone, studying their texture, barely discernible in the shade that prevailed in the dark unlit room. Then her eyes traced the box again and she jumped on her feet again, casting a flame spell to light a few candles. Her magic might have been weak, but it was sufficient to at least light a fire. She pulled the box up on the bed and sighed.

 _Urag's going to kill me,_ she lamented silently. _So much for finding friends here…_

Then, she deposited the books from the box on her pillow, shaking her head.

 _But I guess he's going to be more concerned about this…_

Her fingers brushed over the black cover of a large tome gently, sliding along the silver lining and neatly impressed ornaments. She threw a quick glance at the hourglass on one of the few scarce shelves on the walls, estimating the time she had until the alteration class, and decided that she had enough time to explore a little and still manage to work on her assignment afterwards. She opened the heavy leather cover and caressed the pages with the palm of her hand, reveling in the coarse feeling of the paper on her skin. Tossing the empty box aside, she laid herself comfortably on the soft blanket, propping herself on her elbows, and her eyes focused on the jagged script that filled the pages. She shuddered a little as it was reminiscent of the daedric script, but read the first page nevertheless.

 _Riding the Currents of Time_ by Septimus Signus.

She turned the page to reveal a sheet covered in close text, its appearance almost screaming about the excessive amount of information included. Her eyes followed the first line immediately.

 _Introduction_

 _The book you are holding in your hands is not just some ordinary piece of literature. It is in your possession because the gods wish so, and the first moment you came into contact with it, it became a part of your destiny. Be aware, dear reader, that from now on, your life is going to undergo a significant change._

 _Have you heard of the Elder Scrolls? Some say they only exist in legends. Some say they are a part of us. Some say they do not belong to this world while others will tell you the exact opposite. There are rumors that state that these scrolls transcend time. Curiously, all of the above solemnly swear that the knowledge contained there is forsaken and dangerous._

 _I have dedicated my life to the research of the Elder Scrolls, and I might be the first one to discover that anything and everything can be recorded there. In fact, anything and everything_ is _recorded there. There is no such thing as a limit to an Elder Scroll. Their exact number is unknown and perhaps even nonexistent, their contents vary in both character and density, from the simplest things such as an explanation as to why people cook their food to the complex matters like the concept of life and death, the origins and downfall of dragons or the Universal Principle (which I explain in my other works). They key to understanding the Elder Scrolls, though, lies in their omnipresence and the ambivalence of the Truth._

 _If you say that an Elder Scroll is a unique object of certain specific attributes, it is just as true as saying that it is just a simple scroll with a simple message. If you say it does not exist, it is just as true as saying it exists and is right here. What people fail to understand, however, is that their omnipresence, their existence and nonexistence, incorporates not only the concept of "where", name it place, location, position, or even sphere, realm, plane or universe, but also of "when". Strangely enough, there is no difference between "where" and "when" for an Elder Scroll. It can be found at any time in any place, shifting its position not only forward or backward, up or down and right and left, but also before and after._

 _When thinking about how time is no more than another dimension for an Elder Scroll, I could not help but think why it is different for us. If an Elder Scroll can move in time freely, why can't a person do it as well? Many years I searched for an answer to this, trying to find a way to travel in time. I have discovered an old Dwemer document concerning this problem, but gained only the general outline as it was incomplete. I had to look for my information elsewhere, in realms unknown to most of the mortals. As a result of my efforts, this book was created._

 _It is meant to give its reader a complex understanding of the concept of time as well as a solution to traveling to the past and future. I paid a terrible price for its completion however, for the knowledge stored in this book is taken from my master. It was his utmost protected secret, which I dared steal from him and convey to whoever finds my work. If you are reading this, chances are that I am probably not in this world anymore._

 _You must be asking yourself why I didn't save myself from my master's wrath if I knew how to travel in time. When reading this book, you will discover that moving in time is very energetically expensive. The magic as you know it, the so-called official arcane arts within the boundaries of people's tolerance and acceptance, do not apply here. It is fairly easy to move an inanimate object in time, but to move a living soul, a sacrifice has to be made. The size and nature of the sacrifice depends on many factors, including the size of the soul, its inner energy, the time distance you want to cover etc. Always remember that nothing is free in this world._

 _You could then argue with me that the Dwemer, among many other things, discovered certain ways to minimize these sacrifices. Indeed, they did. But I will tell you one absolute truth that no Elder Scroll can deny. When you read this book, always remember this one sentence. Carve it into your mind and don't ever let it slip, for without being aware of it, you will condemn yourself._

You can never escape your destiny.

 _Now that you know all that you need to know, let us move on and take a sip from the bottomless well of knowledge. Happy reading._

 _Septimus Signus_

Yrith's hands were trembling, her mind overwhelmed with a flood of emotions and information. She had stolen a book about time travel from Urag's collection! A book that could perhaps grant her unbelievable power if she desired it, most probably kept secret from the public and maybe even from most of the mages. She remembered the name of the author, for Urag had mentioned him several times. Apparently he had been an unbelievably skilled mage, unfortunately obsessed with Elder Scrolls and some long lost Dwemer knowledge to the point when he could not hold a proper conversation. But this work seemed like a masterpiece, something that would, as Urag liked to say, open an entire new realm of research for the College.

But in the upshot, that wasn't all. Yrith forced herself to take a deep breath and settle down, fighting the flush of excitement that flooded her. If she could use this method, if she could travel in time, she would be able to undo the gravest mistake of her life. She could go back and warn her parents, or maybe prevent herself from conjuring the atronach. She could change things for the better.

Her eyes were fixed on the open book, scanning the prologue over and over again, and every time she did so, her resolve strengthened. This was a gift from the heavens and she was going to accept it with open arms. She knew what she had to do now, it was clear as the summer sky in Cyrodiil. She was going to bring her dead parents back to life.

* * *

 _Huh. I really hope you liked this chapter. Unlike the previous one, this one practically wrote itself. I just sat at the computer, let the ideas flow and my hands kept moving. Amazing feeling, really. Please, let me know what you think of it. I really want to hear from you! Especially when I looked at the charts and noticed that a lot of people started reading this story recently (without stopping at the first chapter), I wished that more of you would bless me with a review. Remember that you can directly influence the quality of the story with your reviews and they also give me much needed motivation._

 _That said, thank you, dart0808 and tirechanclas, for your lovely reviews! They really made me happy. :)_

 _To Twillin: I hope everything's ok over there. I miss you._

 _All right, next thing updated will probably be Strike of the Dead Dragon. Ideas keep flowing, the next chapter should be fairly easy to write._

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	5. Avalanche

**Chapter 05: Avalanche**

The storm outside subsided into a mild snowfall and eventually the air cleared completely, the heavy clouds making their way south, to Windhelm. For once, evening sun lit the tall towers of the College of Winterhold, drowning it in warm, golden glow, and Singird Larkwing, one by one, carefully pressed his fingers around the wicks of the candles to smother their light. Although he was the _clean freak_ , as Urag liked to call him, this activity he quite enjoyed, for there was that sweet touch of mystery to it. He strode to the window and looked over the land, smiling slightly as he watched the snow turn the beautiful color of light pink roses.

There was a knock on the door and he turned around abruptly, patting his robes gently to remove any possible trace of dust. Naturally, there was no dust whatsoever in his room. Striding towards the door, he opened it to face Yrith Ravencroft. She seemed a little lost, stretching out her hand toward him, but her silver eyes seemed to sparkle and he was sure that the sunlight coming from outside was not the cause. She was holding a number of papers covered in a thin script. It was not as neat as Urag's, and some characters seemed to jump above their respective lines or dive under them, but it seemed readable, which could not be said about some of her classmates' handwriting.

"You brought it," he commented with a slight smile. "I almost gave up my hopes."

The small Breton girl now looked offended, pursing her lips into her typical rebellious grimace.

"Oh, don't be like that," he scolded her. "If you'd brought it to the class, you wouldn't have to be here in the first place."

"I may be slow and stupid and lazy, but when I make a promise, I make sure I keep it," she muttered under her breath. Singird chuckled.

"All right, all right," he nodded. "Show me what you got here." He took the papers from her and made for his desk. "Do come in, please. Tea?"

She shook her head and stepped into the room hesitantly, looking around shyly. Her eyes stopped at his desk and the all too familiar bookcase, at the shelves lining the walls, the wardrobe on the left and the few chests on the floor. Singird watched her cautiously and the corners of his mouth twitched to form a sardonic grimace.

"It really was you, wasn't it?" he sighed. She looked at him, seemingly clueless and innocent, but he spotted a trace of guilt in those shining eyes of hers. "If you do it again," he told her sternly, raising a finger in warning, "I'll make sure you get a detention like none other."

For a moment, there was a hint of curiosity in her expression, but she quickly concealed it. He pulled a chair out of one corner of the room and invited her to seat herself. She did and failed to hide her relaxed expression. Of course, this chair was probably far more luxurious than the ones they had in the Hall of Attainment, covered with soft velvet cushions and provided with neatly carved armrests shaped as dragon heads at their ends. He sat down on another one which stood by the desk and took a look at the papers she had brought with her. Not too long after, he raised his brows and she stiffened in expectation of a harsh judgment.

"This thing about stretching your mind," he asked as he patted the paper, "where did you find it?"

"I… I don't remember," she replied, her eyes fixed on the ground. He could easily guess that she had zero confidence in her own work. "I thought it was a given. When I first attempted to conjure that flame atronach, I recalled the words 'stretch your mind' from a book I'd read. I thought it meant this."

"Wasn't it 'stretch out your mind?'" Singird questioned and tilted his head to the side. "There's a big difference between spreading it across dimensions and reaching out with it."

"But… it's easier to just spread it than search for the right direction," she objected hesitantly. He frowned, his eyes rereading certain part of the text again and again. There was a short silence before he stood up, staring at her absent-mindedly.

"All right," he said slowly. "You may go. You did a decent job, so I'll let the delay slide this time, but don't you dare repeat it. And if you ever approach my room without my permission…"

The threat remained in the air, unspoken. She gave him that curious look again and it occurred to him that she might just like the adrenaline of breaking the rules. He shook his head.

Yrith rose from her seat and left the room without a word, only a slight nod revealing that she registered what he had told her. He watched the door for a long while after it had snapped shut, until a silent knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in!" he called and the bald head of Phinis Gestor appeared out of nowhere as the door opened ajar.

"Mind if I keep you company for a while?" the retired conjurer asked. "I don't feel like being alone and Urag is in a mood for troll hunting."

"What happened?"

"It seems like some of his books went missing, and you know how he is when that happens."

Singird chuckled and the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

"Then you've come to the wrong place, I'm afraid," he informed his teacher. "He and I have a history, the first one to be suspected will naturally be me."

"Well, I wouldn't say so, it seems he has some other suspects," Phinis said impishly. His student gave him a curious look but he did not seem willing to elaborate.

"By the way," his speech turned into a light, casual tone, "has Miss Ravencroft turned in the assignment you gave her?"

"She did, just a while ago," Singird nodded and tapped the pile of papers on his desk. "You should read it, it's interesting." He handed him the papers and Phinis took them, taking a seat where Yrith had sat not too long ago. After a while, the bald Breton lifted his head and gave his apprentice a questioning look.

"Interesting, maybe, but very much impossible," he stated dryly, but the Nord shook his head.

"I would have said the same if it were yesterday," he said with a slight smile, "but now I know of two people who can actually do it."

"Really? And who might those be?"

"Cain Aldaryn and Yrith Ravencroft."

Phinis stared at him, seemingly at a loss for words, and Singird contemplated whether he suspected him of mocking his own teacher. At last, he spoke.

" _That_ Yrith Ravencroft can do it?" he whispered.

"Yes, she can, I've seen it with my own eyes. I wouldn't be surprised if she could summon five dremora lords at once like that."

"Maybe there is some kind of technique we just don't know about," the Breton objected. "Maybe she doesn't understand what she's doing herself."

"There is no maybe, Master Gestor," Singird opposed firmly. "She explained her method quite clearly in the essay and I've seen her do it. It's just how powerful she is. Or could be."

"I suppose a lot of people here at the College wouldn't be so happy if they knew," Phinis sighed bitterly, tapping the floor subconsciously with his feet.

"They certainly wouldn't, and that's why I trust you to keep this to yourself. There is more to Yrith Ravencroft than meets the eye."

"Especially given the fact that she might have killed her parents. Sing, don't put too much trust in her. It never ended well when someone this powerful appeared."

"I want to believe her innocence," the Nord said helplessly. "And I need her. For… you know."

"I'm still not sure it's the best idea," Phinis shook his head. "Singird, just _who_ in Oblivion is so important that you have to conjure them from… wherever they are?"

"Someone I never met," came the mysterious answer. The Breton stared at his apprentice but he did not seem willing to explain.

The day has slowly faded into darkness and silence prevailed. Without a word, Singird lit up the candles again and returned to his work. Phinis took a book from one of the shelves and immediately became absorbed in its pages. They stayed like that until exhaustion took over and they sought the warmth of their beds to comfort them.

* * *

The warm sun turned crimson red and started sinking toward the western horizon when Yrith left her room and headed to the main gate to take care of her daily job of delivering the fish from the stony beach beneath the College to the kitchen. She was late due to her visit to her conjuration teacher, and so she was not expecting Cain to accompany her tonight. She had informed him that she would take over his duty just this once, for no matter how much she disliked him, it was still against her good conscience to inconvenience him. And so she blinked in surprise when she spotted the fiery-haired Dunmer leaning to the wall on the access bridge.

"You're late," he stated emotionlessly upon her arrival. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes in protest.

"I said you don't have to come with me tonight," she retorted, but he shook his head.

"Despite what I think of you, you're still a girl, and letting a girl wander outside alone in the dark would just be wrong. Dunno what they teach you here, but we in Morrowind don't do such things. We're not the savages you think we are."

"How considerate of you," she uttered wryly, "even though that, judging by our last encounter, I can take better care of myself than you."

"You just taught me today, remember?" he smirked triumphantly. "In spite of your rather firm refusal yesterday."

"I just couldn't stand watching you there," she snorted and took a few steps forward. "I'm going, it's getting late."

Cain hurried after her, keeping close in tow.

"Then maybe you could guess how others feel while watching you in class," he returned. A sigh came in reply but nothing else. Yrith felt irritated, more so when she realized that there was a seed of truth in what the Dunmer had said to her. Until now, every day in the conjuration class she had secretly rolled her eyes at her struggling classmates endlessly trying to achieve something, without thinking that even they had problems of their own. Now she felt bad and a trace of guilt crept its way in her mind.

"On another note, I'd like to thank you for standing up for me this morning," he said a little hesitantly. Yrith slowed her pace and looked over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows in surprise. She nearly tripped over a loose rock at the end of the bridge and grabbed the edge of the low wall beside her just in time to prevent a hard fall on the ground.

"You have nothing to thank me for," she replied as she wiped the dust and snow from her robe and made for the city below. "I didn't stand up for you. I just hated what your so-called friends did."

"So not cute," he grunted quietly under his breath. "And here I was trying to be nice to you. Why can't you just agree?"

"I don't want you to misunderstand. Don't go around thinking that I forgave you for anything you've done so far."

"You're really hopeless," he shook his head in resignation.

They strode through the city and Yrith's gaze wandered sideways, following the direction where her house, now abandoned and partially crumbled, stood. Once again, she remembered that horrendous night, the last one she had spent there before Lady Faralda dragged her out, crying and covered in dirt and blood. At that time, apart from the mess inside, the house had been in perfect state, and she could not help but wonder how fast the tooth of time worked when things were left unattended.

The sun had set when they left the city behind and the sky was slowly turning from violet to deep blue. Further away, over the ever snowy mountain which hosted the grand Shrine to Azura, dark clouds were gathering, promising a night of howling wind and blinding snow. Yrith turned her attention to the sea spreading from the shore just a short walk away, covered in floes and occasional icebergs, but then her ears caught a silent shuffling sound behind her and she threw a glance over her shoulder. Apparently, the Dunmer who followed her noticed it as well, for his reaction was the same, but none of the two spotted anything. Yrith shrugged and continued down the slope leading to the shore. Maybe a stray bird had stopped by and then it had taken to the sky again. But there was no sound of flopping wings.

A few moments after, they heard it again. There was no mistake this time that this was the sound of footsteps in the snow, but once again, there was no one around. Yrith turned to her companion, a question in her silver eyes. Cain furrowed his brows.

"I think we're being followed," he breathed almost soundlessly. Yrith gave a silent snort and smirked.

"Why would anyone follow us, unless a few classmates of ours wanted to pull a prank?" she asked sarcastically.

"No idea," he replied with a pensive frown. "I'd say someone is having a good time now. Unless it's a troll tailing us. You know, last time we met an ice wraith."

"Trolls don't tail people and they definitely don't move this sneakily," she objected.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with," he pointed a finger to a number of fish racks and several nets spread around a few moles spanning from the stony beach before them. She nodded and made her way under the cliff that loomed over the seaside, reminiscent of a falcon's beak which it was named after, covered in snow. There was a silent rustle above her head, but it quickly escalated into a rumble. She looked up curiously, and at the very same moment, Cain's scream tore through the cold air.

"Midget, watch out!"

She gasped at the sight of a mass of white frosty substance falling down on her, threatening to crush her and break every bone in her body. For a moment, time had slowed and the avalanche seemed to stop in midair, casting a dark shadow over her. She stood there, placing both hands over her lips to suppress a scream, her eyes wide with fear.

 _I'm going to die! No! Not now! Not when I finally found a way to undo what I'd done…_ she thought desperately, her mind racing in panic. She barely registered the fiery-haired Dunmer scurrying toward her in attempt to aid her, yelling on his way.

In the last second, she lifted her arms and a stream of magicka flowed from her fingertips, forming into a strong ward with fluttering edges. Then the snow hummed around her and gathered on her magical shield, until it was too heavy and forced her to stagger backwards. A large block of ice fell down on her and she winced as sharp pain flashed through her body just before the ward disappeared. Tears burst out of her eyes and she lost balance and rolled down to the shore, barely stopping just a few feet from the water surface. The cold snow spread around her and buried majority of her body, suffocating her voice before she could cry out. Darkness surrounded her as she tried to dig herself out of this Oblivion without much effect. The snow blocked her limbs and immobilized her, sending cold waves through her flesh. She was screaming in her mind, begging for some kind of divine intervention, unable to breathe, her thoughts more and more clouded and distant.

And then her vision cleared and she was catching her breath, inhaling deeply as the dark elf boy before her drew the snow away, removing it handful by handful from her body in a furious motion.

"Midget…" he whispered in a trembling voice. "Are you… are you all right?"

She took a while to process his words, for everything seemed unreal and distant at that moment, and then she nodded silently. He exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment before continuing to free her from her ice prison. At last, the snow was gone from her body and she fell down on her knees, trembling heavily. Cain knelt beside her, unsure how to react as he saw the sparkling tears pour down from her eyes, making tiny holes in the white blanket below. He lifted his hand hesitantly and patted her on the shoulder.

"It's… okay," he said hoarsely. "Your ward probably saved you from the worst."

She nodded again and he rose, reaching out to her with his hand to help her stand. She took it but her painful grimace revealed that she was hurt.

"My right leg…" she exhaled weakly. Cain nodded in understanding and lowered his body, putting her right arm around his shoulders.

"There is no one around," he informed her, "and I don't think I have enough strength to carry you. Let's just go back like this and find someone to treat you."

She gave a look at the fishing nets which were now torn and covered in ice and snow. The Dunmer shook his head.

"The fish are gone," he sighed. Then he looked at her pale face and added: "In the end, you're lucky that I went with you." A slight smile showed on his lips, devoid of his usual sarcasm and contempt.

Yrith frowned but said nothing in reply as she had no energy to fight this time. She let him support her, staggering uphill toward the College as she leaned against him. Not too long after, a tall robed figure approached them, running in their direction. Cain created a spark of magical light to see who it was, and stared into the dark-skinned face of Qassir, breathless as he hurried to them while trying not to trip or get stuck in a drift.

"You guys!" he called to them, breathing heavily. "What happened over there? I heard some noise and then half of the cliff was gone. Did someone sneeze and blow it away?"

The corners of Cain's mouth twitched in displeasure as he snorted.

"What are you doing here?" he snarled without answering the Redguard's question.

"Why so angry? Just went for a stroll. You know, to get some fresh air, maybe look around for some pretty girls… this place sure is deserted though."

"At this hour?"

"Why not?" Qassir's face was the epitome of innocence, but that only made the line between the Dunmer's eyebrows deepen. "Anyway," the Redguard continued in light conversational tone, "are you all right, urchin? You don't look too good. Shall I give you a ride?"

Despite her condition, Yrith smirked at the nickname he used.

"I'm fi…" she started but her new classmate did not wait for an answer. She was lifted in an instant as though she weighed nothing, and Cain was left with empty hands, glaring at Qassir with unconcealed distaste. Yrith looked up into the Redguard's face and he responded with a wink. She quickly averted her eyes, feeling her cheeks redden regardless of the chill, still running through her body.

"Sorry for stealing your girlfriend!" he called to Cain playfully. "But it seems she needs slightly better care than you can provide her with."

"Yeah, right, Mr. Perfect," the Dunmer grumbled irritably. "Enjoy your sweet time with her, it's not like I care anyway."

"Really? All right then. Be seeing you!"

With that, the Redguard sped up and left Cain behind to fight the drifts and rising wind with the darkness of the night as his only companion. The girl in his arms stared at him in shock with her mouth open, unable to speak. Her disbelief only deepened when she shivered and her escort instantly pressed her against his chest to warm her up. They spent the way up to the College in silence, her slightly doubtful eyes fixed on his mysterious smile.

* * *

There was a knock on the door. It wasn't his door but it was loud enough to wake Singird up before he could fully fall asleep. He grunted silently and rolled over to the other side, but then the knock came again, breaking the sweet haze that had clouded his mind completely. He opened his eyes and glared at the entrance to his room, cursing the unknown source for the disturbance. The third knock came shortly after and then a click resounded in the entrance chamber of the Hall of Countenance as a door unlocked. Then, the conjuration teacher heard the familiarly annoying high pitched voice of Colette Marence and he could only imagine her throwing her hands up as she spoke.

"What… Mr. Tahlrah, Miss Ravencroft… what in the name of Julianos happened to you?!" she gasped. "Are you all… ah, I guess there's no point in asking such a stupid question, let me take a look at you."

Singird sat up abruptly as the speech caught his attention. He quickly pulled his robe over his pajamas, put on his slippers and hurried to the door. He entered the round chamber and peeked over the edge of the circular hole allowing the bright blue stream of magicka to sprout and rise freely from the fountain below. Before the door to the restoration teacher's room stood Qassir, holding Yrith in his arms. Even with the Redguard's back turned to Singird, the conjuration master could see that the Breton girl was pale as a ghost, her whole body trembling furiously. Colette Marence was examining her with a scrutinizing look, her brows furrowing with worry. Her sharp features were underlined by her long hair which, for once, waved freely around her head. He frowned and made for the stairway, climbing it down to meet the newcomers.

"Is anything the matter?" he addressed them, causing Qassir to turn around at once.

"Why don't we all sit down?" Colette suggested, pointing to her room, and the rest of them nodded in approval. "Put her down there," she told Qassir, waving to her bed, but Yrith shifted uneasily in his arms.

"I'm all soaked and…"

"Oh, but this is a school of magic, dear," Colette told her softly. "Don't think we can't deal with a few drops of water here. Now put her down," she turned her eyes to Qassir, "and tell me what exactly happened."

The Redguard placed Yrith on the bed and she rested her head on the pillow wearily, resisting the urge to fall asleep immediately. Each of the three remaining people in the room pulled a chair to the bed and they all seated themselves around it.

"There is not much to tell," Yrith said to the restoration master. "Just that about half of the Falcon Beak just worked loose and tried to bury me alive. It was Cain who got me out of there."

"And where is he now?" Singird asked him with a scowl.

"Oh, I kind of left him behind," the Redguard chuckled mischievously. Colette shot him a reproachful look.

"Your manners, Mr. Tahlrah, leave much to be desired," she uttered coolly. "Anyway, I would like to look at Miss Ravencroft here, so would you mind giving us a little privacy? Oh, and Master Singird, don't go too far. That cliff needs to be mended and I would much appreciate some company."

"I already took that into account," the Nord replied with a bow. "You will find me in my room whenever you're ready."

"This won't take long," she assured him.

Singird and Qassir left the room at once, each heading their own direction. It did not take long indeed until Colette showed up in Singird's room on the upper floor, now dressed warmly for a trip outside with her hair tied up in her usual complicated coiffure. He put on his cloak and his warm shoes padded with fur and they headed out together, hurrying down to the city and further to the torn cliff.

"How is she?" he asked with a concerned expression as they paced through the snow. The city around them was dark and quiet, safe for a few scarce guards who passed them occasionally with a torch in their hand.

"A little shaken," she replied. "Her leg was slightly contused but nothing more. Fortunately, it seems she raised a ward just in time to prevent it from crushing her entirely."

"A reason for you to be proud," he smiled.

"I don't know. It just seems she works well under pressure," the restoration teacher sighed. "Have you heard what happened last time in my class?"

"Enlighten me."

"That Redguard boy shot a fireball at her. That's when she first managed to create a fine ward."

"A genius who pretends to know nothing, and a mysterious show-off who appears out of nowhere," the Nord shook his head with a snort.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No, it's nothing," he muttered quietly. "By the by, how fares your research?"

"Oh, don't even talk about it," she lamented bitterly. "People keep stealing my materials… and here I was so close to discovering something that could prove essential for the whole restoration school."

"And what would that be?"

"I was studying how to mend a soul. A restoration master can heal a flesh wound no problem, but to heal a soul, one has to go deeper, find its origins, the sources of its suffering… I have a reason to believe that, if done correctly, one can bring a soul back from the dead like that. Although this practice could turn very dangerous. I am sure you too understand the consequences."

"It sounds very interesting though," Singird said slowly, barely concealing his excitement. He had not been expecting this kind of development, but he would welcome anything that would help him with his own research. Perhaps this could turn into a mutually beneficial cooperation. "After all, I do occupy myself with soul studies as well, so perhaps we could help each other?"

"It would be my honor," she answered with a bright smile. Before them appeared the dark silhouette of the crumbled cliff and they both turned their eyes to it, setting their gaze at its sharp shape contrasting the surrounding moonlight.

"I thought these cliffs were supported by magic so this exact thing would not happen," the Nord told Colette, a trace of accusation in his voice.

"They are," she defended, "but even then they are not entirely secure. If there is an impact from the outside which is stronger than the magic holding them in place, there is no way of preventing it from happening."

Singird's mind began racing, searching for possible sources of such an impact. They soon arrived at the place, first checking the damage the avalanche had caused and then climbing up to the cliff. Colette raised her hands, inviting Singird to do the same, but he stopped her halfway with a shake of his head.

"Wait. I want to look around. Maybe we can find out why it happened. When was the last time you secured it anyway?"

"Come to think of it, not too long ago," Colette mused as she knelt down to examine the ground. "It has been a month or so."

"So the possibility that the magic has simply withered out is out of question," he nodded. He cast a muffle spell so no footprints would be left where he walked and circled the place a few times, causing Colette to gasp every time he got close to the edge, but he did not seem to mind her. Then he stopped, rubbing his chin with his hand thoughtfully.

"The surface of the snow is too smooth," he commented. "I can't help but think that someone made sure they left no traces here."

"You think a person did it?"

A pair of parallel lines in the snow suddenly caught his attention. He bent down to take a closer look and then nodded as he straightened his back again.

"I'm quite sure of it. This here must have been caused by a strong current of magicka. There is no other thing that would leave such a trace."

"We are not the only ones who can use magic," she opposed. "Dragons can too. And it could have been an ice wraith or something…"

"Oh, dear Colette, where did your wits go? Dragons are not among the most quiet creatures on Nirn, we would have noticed one if it had been here. Ice wraiths do not possess such strong magic… maybe a wisp could do this, but wisps are very territorial creatures and you will find no wisps within miles around here. And they would not tear down a cliff if they sensed a human around. These things don't think like we do."

"I suppose you're right," she admitted reluctantly. "But then who could have done it?"

"Either someone who wants to starve the College, or one with a grudge against Yrith Ravencroft or Cain Aldaryn," he stated grimly. "Or both."

Colette stared into the ground, digging a hole in the snow with one of her feet. Singird watched her concerned face, trying to read her thoughts. She seemed to be in the phase of denial and he could not blame her.

 _I wish you're wrong,_ her eyes were telling him.

He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He hated to be proven wrong, but in this case, he was more than willing to make an exception.

* * *

 _So. Not too much to say about this chapter. This happens to me a lot lately but again, I'm not extra confident about it. Still, I hope you enjoyed it. It took me a while to write it because ideas about the main plot and the climax kept coming to me as I worked on it so half of the time I just kept putting down notes for later use. But that means the story should get better. Hopefully. Big things coming up, big things. :D_

 _The only thing I want to mention are the family names. I figured that if Yrith and Singird had a family name, it would be appropriate to give some to all the characters (or most of them). That said, some of the in-game characters don't have one so I'll have to work around it somehow. But I'll leave that for later._

 _And finally, thank you, dart, Twillin and tirechanclas, for your lovely reviews. I always love to hear from the lot of you, so don't hesitate to write me thoughts on anything concerning my stories, writing, or even myself. Or yourselves, if you deem it worthy of mentioning. I am always interested in the people who read my stories. :)_

 _And that's it, guys, thanks for reading it. Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	6. The Orc Who Knew

_Ok, don't kill me now. Apart from the beginning, this chapter is like one very long dialogue. It may seem weird to you. I'm sorry if it's crappy. I guess I'm in a very bad state of mind. Qassir would smack me. Duh._

 _But enjoy it anyway. Many thanks to dart0808 for the beta.  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 06: The Orc Who Knew**

Yrith woke up into the grey morning of the next day. Dim light came through the small window connecting the room with the large College courtyard and it took her a while to realize it was not her room in the Hall of Attainment. She vaguely recalled that something had happened the day before, but frowned with concentration as she tried to remember the details. Then she sat up abruptly, her eyes drifting to the window. She was dressed in a simple white linen robe which certainly did not belong to her. She seemed to have no memory of where her novice robe had gone, but if it was morning, and the hourglass on one of the shelves indicated that it was, it meant that she had to attend Destruction, and that was the only class she never dared skip. Lady Faralda who had taken her in after the death of her parents, was extra strict with her, and the moment she tried to protest, a severe punishment followed. Then again, Lady Faralda and Urag were the only ones who had stood on her side from the very beginning, and so she felt indebted to her.

She looked around nervously, scanned the number of shelves, desks and chairs that were lined along the walls, but her robe was nowhere to be found and she did not have the courage to open any of the chests and drawers since they did not belong to her. Hesitantly, she stood up, and staggered immediately as her right leg gave way. After two more attempts, she finally found a relatively painless position in which the leg was stable. There was no way she could move her weight to it, but at least she was fairly mobile.

Putting on her shoes, she hobbled to the basin filled with fresh water which lay on a stool by the wall and washed her face, grimacing as the cold liquid bit into her skin. Then she walked to the door and opened it ajar, peeking outside. There was no one in the main chamber, and so she crossed it and made her way out to the cold. The freezing wind made her shiver and tears welled up in her eyes as it blew the snow right into them. She bent down and hurried across the snowy courtyard to the Hall of Attainment as fast as she could, which, given her condition, was not all that fast.

Her room welcomed her with its usual semi-tidy coziness and she quickly rummaged through the chest at the feet of her bed in search of a suitable set of clothes. Her hands found a red dress with leaf ornaments woven into it in a silver thread and she studied it thoughtfully. It had been a long time since she had last had the chance to wear such a piece of garment, and this one in particular brought back memories. Memories of her mother, kind and yet firm, strong and cautious, always absorbed in her research, watching her with that lonely, troubled look when she turned to her, as though she saw a shadow of things to come that Yrith failed to notice.

There had been that one time when her mother had taken her to Solitude. It had been the winter solstice before her fifteenth birthday, a date which was traditionally celebrated in the village her family had come from, and Yrith had had the right to pick a destination and choose one souvenir from there. She had selected a dress from a shop called Radiant Raiment, one that was a little plainer than most of the ones exhibited there, but beautiful in its simplicity. Even now, she remembered her mother's gentle smile as she helped her put it on. It had been the best day of her life. And ever since her parents' death, she had refused to wear it again.

"It's time I make everything right," she said to the dress as though it was sensible. "I will bring them back."

With that, she carefully put the dress on and tied the laces at its sides which served both to hold it in place and to decorate it. She took a black shawl with the same leaf decorations and draped it over her shoulders, combed her hair with her fingers, grabbed a small leather bag with a quill and several sheets of paper and hurried back outside, heading to the Hall of the Elements where a lecture on destruction magic was to be held.

No one was present when she arrived and she curiously looked around. Had she arrived too soon? Or was the lecture already over? With a hint of panic in her face, she clumsily turned around just in time to see Qassir enter the room. His eyes widened when he saw her.

"Urchin! For the Mercy of Stendarr, what are you doing here? You're supposed to…" he called to her, but his voice trailed off as he noticed her attire. "Wow. You look… stunning." Suddenly, he seemed to be at a loss for words. On the outside, at least.

"Well…" she smiled at him sheepishly, but then waved her hand airily, trying to chase off the flush that threatened to dye her cheeks bright red. "Where are the others?"

"Coming. Probably. Did you come here for the class?"

"Why else should I come?"

"You're unbelievable," he shook his head incredulously. "Skipping class when you feel like it but coming when you should not. Yrith Ravencroft – so free that she makes every bird in the sky pale with envy."

"Is that how I appear to you?" she wondered with her head tilted slightly to the side and skipped on her healthy leg, trying to chase off the tingling sensation that was spreading through it.

"There is more to that rebellious side of yours, isn't there?" he asked gently.

She gave him a pensive look. Qassir, the mysterious Redguard who always appeared out of nowhere. She had a strange feeling that he kept following her wherever she went, and frowned slightly when she remembered the events of the previous night.

 _But he would have come to my rescue sooner if he had been there, right?_ she assured herself in her thoughts. _He wouldn't let the snow bury me alive…_

The boy watched her attentively with his deep blue eyes and she felt the urge to turn away from him.

"Say, mind if I pair up with you again today?" he proposed and the smile on his lips widened.

 _And then there is the fireball incident…_

"You really won't have much fun with me," she said evasively, but he just walked closer and put his hands on her shoulders, playful sparks in his eyes.

"You're fun," he assured her. "More fun than the others."

"Is watching me struggle so funny?" she muttered with pursed lips, and a laugh came in response.

"Actually, it is," he answered and earned himself a shocked scowl, "but it would have been a different story if I didn't believe that you will succeed in the end. Seeing you carve your way to success – now that's a true marvel."

"You really put too much faith in me," she mumbled and her eyes pierced the ground so she would not have to look him in the eye.

"You have too little confidence in yourself," he opposed. "I wonder why. It seems to me that you purposely avoid talking to people, making friends, drawing any kind of… positive attention to yourself. What's the reason for that?"

Now she looked at him, her curious gaze meeting his, but quickly averted her eyes again. This was a thought that had never occurred to her before, and yet she had the feeling it was always there. It irked her how her Redguard classmate always knew something about her that she had trouble figuring herself. It was not fair. She wanted to tell him to mind his own business and leave her be… but he _had_ helped her the night before and she would not be able to forgive herself if she was mean to him.

Before she could react, however, a murmur coming from the entrance interrupted her thoughts as the other classmates entered the Hall of the Elements. All of them wore their novice robes, and suddenly, Yrith was painfully aware of how different she looked from the rest of them. Although there was no rule stating what the students should wear, she did not like to stand out this way and it made her nervous. In the end, Qassir was probably right about that. And, on top of that, the robes had magical properties which made the soul energy move smoothly through the body and therefore it was easier to cast spells in them. Somehow she felt even less prepared for the class than usual.

The moment the group of students spotted her and the Redguard whose hands were still resting on her shoulders, several of them started whistling and clapping their hands. Yrith felt warmth in her cheeks and instinctively stepped back, but she regretted it immediately as her injured leg gave way under her and Qassir instantly bent over to her to catch her in the fall.

"A morning date, is it, Ravencroft?" Ha'risha, the bronze-furred Khajiit girl, drawled derisively. "And you're all dressed up… too bad that Qassir only takes pity on you. It's not like he really likes you or anything."

 _And here it comes,_ Yrith thought bitterly and narrowed her eyes, giving her obnoxious classmate a scornful look. She smiled at Qassir and pulled away cautiously, retreating behind the circle of columns around the central fountain to find a wall to lean against, and shivered slightly as her back touched its cold surface.

"Oh I know," she replied with a sneer. "But if you're jealous, just try skipping class a few times and being as bad as you can at everything you do. Oh, but then again, there's the part where you have to play the poor victim of her bully classmates. I wonder if you can do that."

Everyone except for Qassir who chuckled silently at that froze in their places and stared at her in disbelief. The Khajiit girl narrowed her eyes and looked at her with sheer disgust. Yrith shook her head, thinking that she did not have anything to lose anyway. This whole place seemed utterly repugnant to her and sometimes she did not wish for more than to go someplace far away where she could live her life in peace. The one problem was that she would probably not find her peace until she brought her parents back.

 _Soon,_ she reminded herself. _Soon._

Two people separated from the crowd of students and approached her, a Dunmer with the all too familiar spikes of fiery hair and an elegant Altmer girl with angelic face framed by long, silky blonde hair and crowned by two large sky blue eyes that shone like two sapphires. Cain exhaled deeply and looked at Yrith with a quizzical expression.

"No idea what you're doing here when you're supposed to rest in bed," he told her reproachfully, "but since you're already here, let's pair up. We're both outcasts now, I guess it's suitable to stick together."

"Too late," Qassir smiled at the Dunmer and took a step toward Yrith. "The spot's already taken."

"You can pair with whomever you want, smarty-pants," Cain objected with a frown. "They like you so go ahead and enjoy yourself."

"See?" The Redguard's smile brightened even further. "You just said it, I can pair up with whomever I want. So what if I want to pair up with the little urchin here?"

The corners of Cain's mouth twitched and so did Yrith's, both for a different reason, but the Dunmer refused to admit defeat.

"You just want to look better compared to her!"

"And you just don't want to look _as bad_."

An angry vein popped out on Yrith's forehead as she stared at the arguing boys with her eyes narrowed to two, dangerously looking slits. "You guys are unbelievable!" she snarled at them. "Are you even listening to yourselves? That's just super rude, and no one's even asked _me_ what I think!"

"That's because nobody cares." It was Ha'risha, almost singing the sentence out, but then Cain's blonde friend stepped up suddenly, looking like she had been preparing for the occasion for some time. She took a deep breath.

"I do," she said and everyone fell quiet. Yrith looked at her with a mixture of doubt and curiosity. "I… like what you did yesterday. It was… brave… and cool."

"Leyna," Ha'risha whispered in a warning tone. "You don't really mean that, do you?"

The Altmer turned her gaze at her and straightened her back. "You know, Rish, I'm really tired of pretending. I made my choice. The next one's yours."

"Your father is not going to like this."

"My father can hobnob with all the snobs out there all he wants, but that doesn't mean _I_ am going to do the same."

"You'll take that back."

"Oh, go ahead and report it to him," Leyna smiled at the Khajiit angelically. "I'm sure you're going to feel sooo good about it."

Ha'risha snorted but no words came out of her mouth. She gave the blonde a smug look before walking across the room with the rest of the class. They gathered around one of the pillars on the opposite side from the entrance and whispered among themselves furiously. The sight made Yrith want to laugh, but she suppressed it.

"So, about pairing up…" Leyna started and the two antagonizing boys took a breath to speak at once, but Yrith was faster.

"Sure, I can pair up with you," she said with a mischievous grin. "And these two trollheads can stick together."

"Hey!" both of them called in unison, only to be cut off by the sound of clapping hands that came from the entrance.

"Good morning, class," the clear, sharp voice of Lady Faralda resounded through the chamber. "Today, we're going to… Yrith, what in the name of Auri-El are you doing here?" Her amber eyes pierced the Breton girl like two sharp daggers.

"Um… attending your class?"

"For the Eight's sake! Colette is turning the college upside down, looking for you! Turn away for five minutes and you're gone."

"I didn't know I was excused from today's class," Yrith muttered grumpily. "And nice to see you too." Faralda's face softened a little.

"Really now," she sighed. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess."

The teacher nodded in understanding. "Let's start the class then."

"And what about Lady Marence?"

"Oh, she's bound to come here eventually," Faralda deadpanned. Yrith could swear that she saw an impish spark in the corner of her eye, but the teacher did nothing to confirm it.

"All right then," she addressed the whole class, "we are going to practice lightning today. You already know how to create fire and ice. To create lightning, you have to combine the two, so let's try that. First in pairs…"

She was interrupted by a pair of furious footsteps as Colette Marence rushed in the room, her robe flopping around her vigorously. She looked around, immediately spotting Yrith, and pointed her finger at the girl.

"There you are!" she panted. "I was looking all over for you!"

Yrith opened he mouth to speak, but Lady Faralda approached the restoration teacher before she could utter a word, whispering something to her silently. The healer nodded a few times before leaving the room. Faralda then turned back to the class and cleared her throat.

"Back to where we were," she said. "You will work in pairs and try to create lightning. One of you will do the frost part while the other will heat the water created in the process. The purpose of this exercise is to make you understand how this works. I believe you all know the theory by now, so let's move right onto the practical use. The coordination might be difficult at first, but teamwork is an essential part of magical practice, so learn to master it. Now spread around the room, please. You will be firing at the walls, and none of you will direct a spell at a classmate or you're out before you can say netch. Start now."

"I will… drag you down," Yrith told Leyna apologetically, but the elf just shook her head.

"Let's just try," she proposed. "Are you all right?" She looked at Yrith with concern as the Breton girl limped toward the closest pillar. "Lady Faralda did sound worried."

"I'm fine," Yrith assured her hesitantly. She was not used to this friendly Leyna and it bothered her slightly, but at the same time, she was beyond happy to have found a new friend. And Urag would be happy too! "I just had a little accident with the snow yesterday, no need to worry. My robe might have taken more damage than me though. Haven't seen it since yesterday."

"By the way, your dress looks really nice."

"My mom gave it to me," she said with a little pride in her voice.

"You sound like you're very fond of her."

"Was. She's dead."

"Oh," Leyna stammered timidly. "I'm… sorry."

"No need."

"You're really… straightforward."

Yrith laughed. "Sorry. I guess I'm just not used to this."

"Neither am I."

There was a short silence before the two of them laughed together.

"Let's start before Faralda skins me alive," Yrith proposed and earned herself an amused look.

"You two look close to each other," the elf pointed out and Yrith replied with a simple shrug.

"We have a history. So how do we do this?"

Leyna raised her hands and a bubble of water appeared between her palms, spinning around as she tried to hold it in place.

"Your only task should be to heat this up," she explained, "but you have to do it really fast. I will then cool it down again and make the particles collide until it cracks and lightning emerges."

"Really fast… that means I have to put a lot of power into it, right?"

"Just try it."

Yrith nodded and raised her hands, but then she looked at her classmate helplessly. "I can barely create a flame, so how do I just… heat things?"

"Uh… to put it simply, heat is energy. When you create a flame, the first step is to pull the energy out from your soul, and that's what you do. Even raw magicka can be used to heat things."

"Right…"

Yrith tried to do as instructed. Her fingertips vibrated with the fresh supply of energy, but it was not enough to heat the orb of water her companion was keeping up, much less to heat it fast.

"You're on the right way," Leyna encouraged, "keep it up. Just try to dig into your soul."

Yrith took a deep breath and closed her eyes, but suddenly an angry snap broke her concentration. She opened them again and searched for its source, her gaze finding Cain who was seething at his partner.

"Stop – showing – off!" he snarled while Qassir laughed in amusement. "I need to practice too!"

Qassir held his hands up and created a water orb much similar to the one Leyna was holding, and Cain reached out to it, but the moment he did, the Redguard's hand pulled away abruptly.

"Too slow!" Qassir smirked.

"Enough!" the sharp voice of Lady Faralda cut through the air and all the class turned to her. "Qassir, you pair up with Yrith and help her master the basics, since you are obviously well-versed in everything we do here. Cain, Leyna, you two get together and help each other with the lightning. And no fighting here! Do I make myself clear?"

"But…" Yrith tried to protest but Faralda only waved her hand impatiently at that.

"Incompetent cripples stay out of this."

Leyna put her hand over her mouth in shock, but Yrith shook her head in resignation.

"Don't worry," she told her. "I'm used to it."

"But this was horrible…"

"She didn't mean it. _That_ would sound different. I guess this is good bye for now," she added with a frown.

"Talk to you later," the blonde said disconcertedly and walked away, replaced by Qassir who grinned at Yrith merrily.

"Hello again," he saluted.

"I ought to smack you in the face," she grunted at him and pursed her lips sulkily.

"Why?"

"'Cuz you only want to look good compared to me."

"Hey! I didn't say that!"

"You didn't deny it either."

"For all the Daedra out there, girls are so troublesome!" he exclaimed aggrievedly.

"So you finally managed to pair up with me," she grumbled. "Well, good luck with me."

"Ah, you figured it out?"

"I'm not that dumb."

"I never said that," he objected with a light smile. "Shall we start?"

"With what? I can't do anything."

"Apparently, I'm supposed to teach you the basics. But I already did that last time, remember?"

"Last time?"

"How to draw power from your soul, I told you how to do it during restoration. That's the first step to almost every spell except for conjuration."

"I can do that with destruction?" Yrith asked doubtfully.

"Yep, pretty much. Just pull it out, transform the energy into whatever you want and release it. You want to create fire? Just imagine the heat and use it to light one. You did it subconsciously before."

She nodded and turned her attention to her soul again. And again, there was the familiar barrier which kept her from reaching out to it. There were too many emotions for her to plunge into it freely, too many feelings that threatened to drown her. It seemed like she could only do it under pressure, when she was in some real danger. There was loneliness, fear, helplessness… things that she wanted to look away from. And so many memories, among which one shone brighter, the one concerning that fateful night. She pulled away, all the color retreating from her face, and Qassir watched her with concern.

"You look like you're about to pass out," he said and furrowed his brows. "Just like last time. What is it?"

She shook her head. For gods' sake, she did not want to think about it. Ever since this classmate of hers had made her feel that pain again, it had haunted her in her dreams and even when she was awake, always, with the exception of last night when she was too tired to think of anything.

He walked toward her, a gentle smile on his face. "I want you to trust me," he breathed.

"I don't want to trust you," she muttered.

There was a sigh, but then he looked as though nothing had happened and started afresh. "Say, how about you just omit the concept of 'destruction' and think about it as something productive and convenient?"

"What do you mean?"

"When we talk about flame, for example, you don't have to use it to destroy. Just imagine you want to light a torch so you can see the road ahead."

"Hmm… I guess I could try that…"

"Wait, scratch that. Make it a flame that warms up a house for the whole family that occupies it."

 _Family…_ that was cruel. She pierced him with her silver eyes which looked like two wells of endless sorrow and suffering at that moment. He inadvertently stepped back, returning her gaze with timid hesitation, but said nothing, waiting for her to act upon his words. She sighed and did so, facing the turmoil in her soul again. A flame that would not destroy, a protective one, the warmth of a home… that she would be happy to make, yes. She would have been happy to make it. The thought was strangely soothing, calmness spreading inside her and chasing the previous anxiety away, and suddenly she felt very relaxed. The power of her soul was within her reach now, ready to be used, and she grabbed it, directing it to her fingertips where it materialized and hit the air, setting it ablaze with a soft crackle. Bright flame enveloped her hands and she stared at it in surprise.

"I… I don't understand," she stuttered with a puzzled expression. Qassir chuckled.

"Despite fighting with others all the time, you really hate the mere thought of a conflict, don't you?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"We in Hammerfell teach magic differently than you do. The first thing you learn is that a mage's potential depends mostly on the state of his soul. If your soul is opposed to destruction, you have to find another way to call your magic forth. And your concept of using certain kind of magic to fight and therefore naming it Destruction is fundamentally wrong, so don't be embarrassed that you can't get the gist of it."

"So what do you call it in Hammerfell?"

"Elemental Magic is probably the term we would use for this, but it covers far more than that. Anyway, the basic approach to magic is… different from how they present it to you here. Magic is not a technique, it's a manifestation of the power within your soul. You have to keep that in mind."

Yrith looked at the flame which kept crackling merrily around her hands. It was warm, as though it had a life, not like something meant to destroy. A protective fire, work of beauty and refinement. Suddenly, she could see it in a different light. Literally.

She turned around when the sound of boots clapping against the floor announced the arrival of Lady Faralda who stared in surprise at the vivid flame in Yrith's hands.

"By the Almighty Eight, you really did teach her the basics," she exhaled in an astounded voice. "I… I really have trouble figuring out why you enrolled here as a student instead of a teacher."

Qassir smiled, but said nothing in response, an impenetrable mask covering his face. Yrith wondered if Faralda had just touched on something he did not want to talk about. She gave him an inquisitive look, but then shrugged and encouraged them to continue, walking away to check on the other students. Yrith set the air ablaze several times before her temporary tutor decided it was time to teach her to create ice. She watched him as he drew the energy from his own soul, using it to suck the small particles of water from the air and freeze them afterwards. She tried to follow his example, but found herself struggling against what she had just learnt, as she had to use the energy for mechanical processes and not for heating the air. She watched as a flame ignited in her hands for the third time when an orb of water should have materialized there instead and then threw her hands up in an impatient gesture.

"Calm down," the Redguard said soothingly but it had the exact opposite effect. Yrith pursed her lips in her typical rebellious grimace and snorted. Qassir raised his hand and reached out to her, making her step back abruptly. "Careful!" he warned. "You'll…"

She shifted on her feet and moved her weight to the other leg, only to let out a painful gasp.

"…hurt your leg," he finished with a sigh.

Yrith looked utterly defeated and the crimson color on her cheeks revealed her embarrassment. She bent her leg slightly to relax it and rubbed her thigh with her fingers without much effect. Qassir laughed and opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the voice of Lady Faralda announcing the end of the class.

"Want me to escort you back to Master Marence's room?" the Redguard offered then, but Yrith just shook her head.

"I'll manage, thank you," she said, trying to put up a polite smile, but only managed to exhibit a bizarre grin.

She staggered through the room, using anything and everything around for support. The bright blue light from the magical fountain at the center of the Hall of the Elements gave her ethereal visage as she leaned against its edge while passing it, and she looked at her huge shadow with interest. Proceeding to the foyer, she grabbed the metal bars of the gate separating it from the main chamber, but stopped abruptly when she heard the quiet sound of leather shoes tapping the floor. She raised her head, ignoring all the other students who passed her and hurried outside, and her gaze met the eyes of Urag gro-Shub in all their dark might, scrutinizing her with a mixture of anger and reproach. She shuddered inadvertently and her fingers squeezed the cold metal until the knuckles on her hands turned white. Leyna tried to call out to her, but she only waved her hand, signalizing that she would talk to her later, and so the elf just nodded and hurried outside.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?" the orc drawled.

"H-hi, Urag," she stuttered innocently.

"Mind sharing where a certain book from my collection went?"

"Ahaha… I'm… I'm sorry, Urag. I couldn't resist, you were so secretive about it… I'll finish it within ten hours from now and return it, okay?"

"No, that's _not_ okay. Return it now."

"Why? Do you need it? Is it that important?"

"That is none of your concern," he answered coolly and sent another wave of shivers down Yrith's spine. She frowned. She had seen Urag angry before, but never this cold. At least not towards her. Just what had she done to deserve this?

"So when will you not need it? I'd like to…"

"I'm not lending it to you. Now hurry up and bring it back." His tone was ice-cold and uncompromising, and now Yrith's expression turned from apprehensive to irritated.

"Why not? That's not fair! Everyone in the College should be able to read the books in the library! I won't take it away again, I'll just read it there, okay?"

"I said no and that's final."

"Urag, this is important to me!"

"This book is dangerous! I'm not letting you read it. You are very much trying my patience, young lady."

"And your patience is really what matters here!" Yrith yelled, resisting the urge to stomp on the ground which would certainly result in more pain. "You have no idea what this book means to me!"

"Really?! The mere fact that you keep blaming yourself for something you don't even fully understand doesn't give you the right to defy the world's basic rule! Time goes on and there's a godsdamn reason for it so just bear with it!"

"Blaming myself?" Yrith repeated slowly. She pierced the orc with her silver eyes and watched as an alarmed expression shaped his face. "Where did you hear this?"

"I didn't. I just thought…"

"No one just _thinks_ something like that! You… never mind." She shook her head helplessly and darted toward the entrance. Urag tried to step in her way, but she circled him, ignoring the pain in her leg and rushing outside as fast as possible.

"Yrith!" he called after her but she ignored him, marching across the courtyard, leaving two lines in the snow behind her as she dragged her feet through it.

She was beyond furious. So Urag knew. But she could swear she had not told him. He was not supposed to know that she had killed them. There was only one person whom she had spoken about it, one person she had decided to wager on, and now she was convinced that he had betrayed her trust. Coincidentally, that person was now pacing toward her, apparently with something important on his mind. At least she didn't have to look for him.

"Ah, Miss Ravencroft, here you are," he called to her, catching his breath. "I just wanted to inform you that you don't have to go collect the fish anym—"

"Well, how nice of you!" she spat, her face deformed to an enraged scowl. "Found a new way to rattle my cage, eh?"

"Excuse me?!" he gasped incredulously.

"Good job, I must tell you. You couldn't have picked a better target than Urag. You really enjoy rubbing salt in people's wounds, don't you?!"

"Miss Ravencroft, what in Oblivion are you talking about?!" the Nord teacher retorted, his face now equally infuriated, cheeks dyed in bright red.

"You really want me to spell it out? Fine! You revealed my secret to Urag! For six months I've been trying to gather up enough courage to tell him myself! But you… you are despicable!"

"I don't…" he tried to defend himself, but she did not listen anymore. Only the crunching sound of the snow under her feet announced her departure, leaving Singird Larkwing to stare after her in puzzlement.

* * *

For a while, his mind was absolutely blank. Then a furious flood of thoughts came down upon Singird like an avalanche and he fought the contradicting emotions clashing inside of him, anger at the insolent Breton girl on one side and confusion caused by her accusation on the other. He almost missed the orc librarian who passed him in hurry, but then the realization sank in and he quickly grabbed him by the sleeve, stopping him from proceeding further.

"Can it wait, Larkwing?" Urag snapped impatiently. "I have an important matter to attend to and…"

"Yes, I can see that and I believe I have a few questions concerning this _important matter_ of yours."

Urag took a deep breath, ready to retort, but changed his mind in the last second, slowly turning to face the Nord.

"You? Of all people she told _you_?"

"Let's say she didn't have much choice."

The orc was close to baring his teeth. "What did you do to her?!"

"What does that matter now? Stop blaming me for… all kinds of stuff, both of you," Singird groaned with his hands raised in a defensive gesture. "The important thing is that she thinks I told you. And I want to know how you know."

"Important _for you_ , that is. Why would I tell you? I owe you nothing, lemon-face."

"Then tell her at least. I don't want her to hate me."

"No."

"She has the right to know!"

"No!"

"All right, green-skin," the Nord whispered in a deep, dangerous voice, emphasizing every syllable in the sentence. "I don't like you, but I never thought you such a heartless bastard. She couldn't have picked a worse guy to put her trust in."

Urag suppressed the urge to grab Singird's neck and pin the man to the wall. "Don't talk about things you don't understand."

"Well, you're not making it any easier for me."

"What does it matter to you anyway? Two days ago, the two of you were like deadly enemies."

"Ok, let's make a deal, gro-Shub. I'll tell you what I need her for and you're going to tell me why you don't want her to know."

The orc narrowed his eyes and stared into the ground, examining a footprint reminiscent of a snake's head as he thought about Singird's suggestion. Then he sighed heavily.

"Frozen Hearth, three o'clock. I'll rent a room there. Don't be late."

Singird nodded, surprised by the gravity of Urag's voice. What could it be, that he did not want to reveal it right away?

He watched the orc leave and thought that the librarian's footsteps were heavier than before, as though an invisible burden was attached to his back. He decided to return to his room for now and tend to his research, but the more he tried to concentrate on it, the more he grew anxious, and after some time, the waiting became insufferable. He gave up and left the Hall of Countenance, making for the city of Winterhold. There was still an hour left when he reached the local inn but he decided to go in anyway. He would perhaps sit down and have a mug of ale to calm his stirred emotions.

A screen of smoke and dust welcomed him upon entering and a ginger-haired Nord woman rushed to him.

"Welcome!" she called to him, her eyes focused on a small pile of gold she was holding in her hand. She quickly put it in a pouch attached to her belt and tied it tightly. "Ah, if it isn't Master Larkwing. Looking for Toddvar? He went on a patrol."

"Toddvar is still here?" Singird asked with interest. "I thought he headed back to Windhelm already. No, I'm not here to see him today. I have an appointment with Urag here. He said he'd rent a room."

"I see," the woman nodded. "Then it's probably the one over there," she waved to a door on the opposite side of the main room. "Feel free to use it until he comes."

Singird gave a nod of thanks and crossed the smoke-covered space. There were more people than he had expected today, all of the occupants of the Jarl's longhouse included, and the place was loud and lively. A man on his right laughed heartily at a joke he had just been told and all of the table followed. A couple in a remote corner raised their glasses to have a toast. A young boy on the other side of the room stood up and boasted, showing his muscles to everyone willing to pay attention. Singird smiled to himself and proceeded to the smaller chamber furnished with only a bed, a small table and two chairs. He closed the door, sat down on one of the chairs and waited.

He was in a daze, half asleep and half listening to the noise from outside, when Urag entered the room. The orc sat down across the table and waited for a while before tapping him on a shoulder. Singird yanked but quickly composed himself.

"Pardon me," he muttered. "Seems like the warmth of this place has gotten to me."

"Seriously, you would have been a fine target now," Urag grumbled. "And you call yourself a mage."

"Luckily, no one has a reason to kill me," Singird smirked and rubbed his eyes.

The orc sighed and stood up again, carefully examining the room. He cast a few spells, including one to detect life and another one to detect undead, looked carefully under the bed and then locked the door.

"What in the name of Talos are you doing?" the Nord asked him with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, don't you Talos me now. I'm checking if the coast is clear."

"Aren't you a little paranoid?"

"Say what you want. I believe that you'll be of different humor in just a while."

"And why would that be?"

The orc narrowed his eyes and looked Singird up and down, his lips curling in a slight, humorless smile. "Because what I'm going to tell you is an absolute secret, and if anyone else hears about it, I might as well blow up entire Nirn," he said.

* * *

 _And so you finished the sixth chapter. Congratulations! Once again, sorry if I you think it's bad. I guess I shouldn't read any writing guides, because I just did and I basically learned that I do everything wrong. Like really everything. I thought of possible ways to improve my writing but then I argued with myself that there are people who like how I write so I shouldn't change it too much. And then I just got depressed and it might have affected this chapter. On top of that, I had some real life issues (like a crazy teacher telling me I haven't met the requirements for his course so I don't have to come to his class anymore – luckily, my classmates supported me so that made me feel a little better) and I have to lie down with tonsillitis (again), so it has just all piled up._

 _Why didn't I wait and leave the chapter for later? I don't know. I just really felt like writing it._

 _Anyway, again, thank you for all your lovely reviews!_

 _Twillin: A load of unhappiness incoming. Brace yourself!_

 _tirechanclas: Oh no, you too?! Well, I hope you're enjoying the game then. My boyfriend is completely absorbed in it. Anyway, you made me really happy with that review of yours. I like your way of thinking, I really do. It showed me I'm heading the right direction. Thank you!  
And about the delay – well, I'm writing four fanfics simultaneously, so I usually just work on the one that calls to me, if you know what I mean. That, and then there's the real life. So I can't really promise any regularity, sorry for that._

 _dart: No pineapples. No apples either. Just pines._

 _See you around and stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	7. Unveiling Mysteries

**Chapter 07: Unveiling Mysteries**

Sharp pain in her leg kept sending warning signals to Yrith, but she still ignored it, stomping angrily through the snow. She left the College gate behind and was now pacing over the tall bridge leading to the city. Urag wanted the book back, but for now, the only thing she knew was that she needed fresh air and she needed it now. Singird Larkwing, that bastard of a man. She never should have trusted him. Then again, he did have that aura to him, that, despite him being an annoying perfectionist and bothersome clean freak, caused everyone around to look up to him. And he was handsome.

"Since when have I become so superficial?!" she scolded herself aloud, ruffling her hair with her hand. She let out a sigh as she slowed down and looked at the ravaged buildings before her. It occurred to her that people were really being paranoid when they feared the college. Ever since the Great Collapse, the city had been almost abandoned, most of the remaining citizens – and those from other cities as well – blaming the College for the damage that had been done there. But how could a spell cause such a huge incident? Besides, she had heard that Deneth, the Arch-Mage from that time, had clearly denied all of the accusations, stating that the College had nothing to do with a disaster of such measures. She had no reason to believe otherwise.

She entered one of the ruins and studied the shabby texture of the wood, sliding a finger along it gently. It was a small house, not unlike the one her parents had lived in, and it was completely empty. Not a single splinter remained there, no trace of anyone ever living in the building, as though it was completely erased from existence.

Suddenly, she felt the urge to visit her old home, and so she left the ruin and strode through the city, absent-mindedly waving her hand to the guards in greeting. After a while, an old building appeared before her, slightly ragged but still a-whole. A flask standing on a maple leaf was carved into its gable, the symbol of the Association of Wizards and Alchemists, but it was barely discernible as the wood was greyed and covered with cobwebs. Yrith frowned. Cobwebs? Here in Winterhold, where life was almost as rare as the legendary palm trees?

She opened the door and took a peek inside, looking around as though someone was meant to be there. Naturally, no one occupied the place, and so she took a deep breath and entered the house. Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned around abruptly to face Leyna Travi who backed away inadvertently the moment Yrith set her gaze on her.

"What are you doing here?" Yrith snarled before she could even think of a proper greeting. The blonde raised her hands, palms facing inwards to show she meant no harm, as was the habit of all mages, and shook her head.

"I'm… I'm sorry," she stammered disconcertedly. "I was just… wondering where you were going. Y-you looked so… angry…"

"I… guess I was," Yrith said thoughtfully.

Leyna looked around timidly, her eyes scanning the dusty floor and singed walls of the dark corridor which spanned through the house and led past the kitchen and two bedrooms, all the way to the laboratory on the far side. Scorched remains of a tapestry hung on the wall next to the kitchen door, but the image woven into it was not discernible anymore.

"What is this place?" she asked, scowling as though she smelled something foul.

"My house," replied Yrith with a slightly reproachful look.

"Your house? You mean… the place where you live?"

"I used to. It belonged to my parents, but it's been long deserted since their death."

The blonde girl nodded, but then she frowned, staring at the floor. "Strange," she remarked. "The dust on the floor seems swept away. You sure no one lives here?"

Yrith narrowed her eyes, studying the partially singed wooden panels beneath her feet cautiously. Indeed, there was a cleaner line in the middle of the corridor, indicating that someone visited the place frequently. Without a word, she walked to the other side and opened the laboratory door. A shadow of pain crossed her face as she looked over the room. It had been cleaned, the bodies of her parents carried away and the blood wiped from the floor, and yet, the memory still remained there, as vivid as it had been when she had come to learn about their death. She heard the sound of footsteps on the wood as Leyna followed her, but paid them no attention. Looking at the shelves and the desk on the other side of the room, she noticed a number of vials and singed ingredients scattered around. She frowned at the sight as they appeared to have been placed there recently. As if…

"As if someone was searching for something here," Leyna spoke Yrith's thoughts aloud. The Breton girl turned to her with her head tilted to the side.

"For what though? I don't think there is anything to be found there anymore."

Leyna shrugged. "How would I know? Hey, what's behind that door?" She pointed her finger to the wooden door at the remote corner of the room, studded and covered with a layer of curious glassy matter as a protection against possible explosions. A playful spark glistened in Yrith's eyes and she curled her lips into a mysterious smile.

"That, my friend," she fluttered as she crossed the room, "is the library." There was a notable amount of pride in the Breton's voice. Leyna chuckled at that and followed her to the door. Yrith grabbed the handle and paused for a moment, her gaze fixed on the smooth surface absentmindedly. Then she opened the door almost gingerly and peeked beneath it.

The familiar dry smell of dust on paper filled her nostrils, and she could almost feel the weight of the knowledge stored within the innumerable tomes which filled the shelves of the surrounding bookcases. She drew the fug into her lungs and let out a satisfied sigh. Leyna watched her, half amused, half agitated.

"You really have a thing for books, don't you?" she remarked with one eyebrow raised.

"And you don't?" Yrith questioned, raising her voice inadvertently. "Books… each of them has a soul of its own."

Leyna laughed. "I don't hate books," she said. "But I suppose I don't share your passion for them." She looked around, wiping the dust from several volumes with her finger. One of their spines was decorated with a golden imprint of the same symbol that was carved into the house gable, a flask with a maple leaf, and the Altmeri girl stared at it curiously.

"What is this?" she asked, pointing at the emblem.

"The symbol? It belongs to the Association of Wizards and Alchemists, also known as AWA. Never heard of it?"

The blonde shook her head and pulled the book out of the shelf. _The Soul Energy and How to Use It_ , the title stated and she opened it in the middle.

"It's an organization that came to existence at the beginning of this era, when it became apparent that the Mages Guild would eventually be destroyed," Yrith started explaining. She strode between the shelves, scanning the titles of the books in case she had missed some the last time she had been here, but so far, she knew every single one of them. "It doesn't have any headquarters and its members are scattered throughout the Empire, mostly in Cyrodiil, Skyrim and High Rock, but some can also be found in Hammerfell and Morrowind. Their mission is magical research, as it is with all the institutions of magic."

"Ah," Leyna nodded, "sounds like something my father would know about. I was never into politics and how they affected guilds and stuff. So, your parents were members?"

"Yes. They were part of a small wizard community back in Daggerfall, but moved here after a few of their friends died."

"So they joined the College?"

"Strangely, no. They were in contact with it, but it seemed more like they resented it for some reason." Yrith sighed. The memory of having friends was very vague in her mind since she had lost all of them when her family left High Rock, and she could never really forgive her parents for making her live in seclusion in this desolated place. She felt a slight tug of loneliness in her heart again, followed by the memory of the slender blazing figure, the only companion she had had during that time.

"Are you all right?" Leyna's voice issued in the distance. She forced herself to return to Nirn, staring at her friend absentmindedly, and nodded slowly.

"Just fine," she replied in a low voice.

"It's written in this book that a soul has a dimensional aspect," the elf said curiously. "Never heard of anything like that."

"A soul equals to a world, or an organism," Yrith affirmed. "I thought it was common knowledge, but even Larkwing was surprised when I wrote it in the essay."

"That Association conducts quite some interesting research," Leyna commented. "Mind if I stop by sometimes? This might prove useful for my studies. Master Marence is currently studying soul repairs and this seems like the kind of book she would want me to read."

Yrith suddenly clutched Leyna's hand and the elf blinked in surprise. "Soulmate!" the Breton girl exclaimed with a wide smile. "Finally someone who appreciates restoration. So you chose this path too?"

"Yeah, I want to sign up for the Expert Restoration class when we finish the initiate course. It's good to know I won't be there alone. The others always laughed at me for wanting to choose restoration."

"Their problem. Just wait till they run to us for healing," Yirith winked and threw her companion an impish look. She reached the corner of the room, her gaze stopping at the section with her favorite fairytales. Some of these books were old as time, telling the tales of ancient heroes from the times when the Aedra walked the surface of Nirn, but her favorite one was a simple story of a pirate who fell in love with a Dunmeri princess. Her eyes locked upon it, a thin volume which, despite being one of the newest ones here, looked worn and ragged, with several fingerprints left on its tattered dark red cover. As though moving on its own, her hand reached out for it. "Oh, and all of these books can be found in Urag's library," she added with a shrug.

"Oh," Leyna replied, shuddering visibly at the orc's name. "But can I still come here if the books I need are taken?"

Yrith opened the book she was holding with shaky fingers. Her hand slid along the pages gently, smoothing them and wiping the dust from their surface. "Sure," she said quietly, knitting her brows. She wondered whether Urag would be happy about her being friends with an orc-hater. Then again, there were other things to take care of before even discussing her new friendship with him. Her fingers clutched the book, making her knuckles stand out. Leyna's gaze slid down to the yellowed pages and her brows shot up to her golden mane.

"Looks like someone struggled with the quill," she commented, pointing at the text. Yrith looked at the book and her eyes widened.

"What is this?" she gasped. She quickly strode to the window, squinting at the book in the dim light coming from the outside. Small particles of dust were floating in the air and settling on the paper where a number of characters were smudged or stained with ink, barely readable to someone who did not know the text. Yrith, naturally, knew it by heart, but that was precisely why she was certain that the book used to be in perfect state, the pages clean and the script razor-sharp. She flipped through the pages, discovering similar faults throughout the whole book, and checked the first page to confirm that this was the same book she had received from her parents. A thin line of text stated:

 _To our beautiful daughter with love. Live a happy life without regret._

She stared at the message, forgetting to breathe until a pat on her shoulder snapped her from the haze.

"What's wrong?" Leyna asked.

"This…" Yrith lifted the book. "It has been altered."

"What do you mean?"

"I remember the stain on this page," she pointed to a jagged blot at the corner of the title page, "and this message too. Even the extra curl on the L character was there. But the last sentence is new, and the smudged characters all over the book too. I don't understand…"

"May I take a look?"

Yrith handed the book to her friend who carefully turned one page after another. Then she frowned, studying the text over and over and over again, scanning the pages while deep in thought. Yrith watched her, shifting on her feet impatiently, her fingers playing with the laces on her dress. The waiting was unbearable, as the Altmeri girl seemed to take forever to examine it. At last, she looked up, nodding thoughtfully.

"These smudged characters appear in relatively regular intervals," she stated, her index finger following line after line in the text to demonstrate. "The distance between them is never more than two hundred and fifteen characters and never less than a hundred and eighty five."

"Could you get to the point…?"

"Patience, please," Leyna said calmly. "I'll get to it, just listen." Yrith frowned, biting on her lip. "Every now and then, a period appears among the smudged characters. It divides the character blocks fairly regularly. The longest sequence is eight characters and the shortest one is two, but most of them keep along the central line with the count of four or five characters, by which we can assume that one sequence represents a word and the periods are spaces. No matter how I look at it, this seems like a cipher to me. A message might be encrypted here."

"A message? From who? And to who?"

"We won't know until we decipher this. Do you have a paper?" The elf groped about a pouch hanging by her waist until she withdrew a small piece of charcoal wrapped in a thin cloth whose color was barely discernible under the dark coal stains. She carefully wiped the window sill and laid the book on it. Yrith nodded and her hand buried itself in the leather bag she was still carrying. She deposited several sheets of paper on the sill and both of the girls bent over the book to study it yet again.

"So the first marked character is the P here, in the word 'Pirate'," Leyna said and marked it down. "This word, though, I can't read…"

"It's 'Quallia', a name," Yrith filled in, her lips curling up when she remembered her favorite part of the story. "It's a weird name, because despite being a Dunmeri princess, she was cast out before she was even born and named by…"

"You'll tell me later," Leyna smiled amiably. "We should proceed now."

Yrith's smile faded into disappointment, but she nodded nevertheless. "Q it is, then. And next is U from 'you'…"

They continued, slowly working their way through the story, marking down every smudged character they saw and counting the letters between them to make sure that they did not miss anything. At last, a sequence of letters and dots was put down on the paper in one long line.

PQUCMQ . OH . CRQ . BCMZHQ . HZND . CRQ . MCD . BCKQ . OH . CZMQ . URCC . RCRRQNQD . ZB . NOC . NOXM . HCXLC

"This doesn't make any sense," Yrith groaned hopelessly. "It's just a bunch of random letters!"

"Patience is not really your strong point, is it?" Leyna chuckled. "First, can you remember what this sentence said? It's all blacked out. And there's another one at the end of the book." She pointed to a line where a number of consecutive characters were stained beyond readability.

"I don't know about the one at the end, but the first one, if I recall correctly, was talking about a small daedric treasure hidden under the sea. I can't remember the exact sentence, though."

"All right," Leyna said with a nod and wrote 'small daedric treasure under the sea' at the bottom of the paper. Then she turned back to her friend. "Back in Alinor, among other things, we studied languages and their structure. In language studies, you also go over sounds and letters and analyze which of them appear most frequently in a language."

"I see! So I count the letters in the message and decipher the characters based on their frequency?"

"It's not that simple," Leyna shook her head. "This message is very short so it might not work this way. The thing you do is that you first select the shortest words and compare them to the shortest words in your language. Let's wager on this message being in our common tongue. The shortest words would be OH, CRQ, MCD, ZB and NOC, out of which only OH and CRQ appear more than once. So, which are the most common two- and three-character words you know that could appear in a sentence more than once?"

Yrith scratched her head. "Is…" she thought aloud, "of… on… in… at… it… for… and…"

"You're on the right track. And don't forget about the articles."

"'An' and 'the'," the Breton girl nodded.

"Let's limit that to the ones that are absolutely the most common. People don't tend to use the same prepositions more than once in a sentence if they can avoid it, except for 'of'. To use 'is' twice in a sentence is not the most usual thing either. So let's say OH could be 'an', 'of' or 'it', and CRQ is 'and' or 'the'. I could be wrong of course, but let's start with these options."

"But there are so many," Yrith objected. "How long is it going to take till we try every option there is? Do we have to try replacing the characters over and over again until we find the right combination? That sounds like madness. Besides, I don't think that the CRQ is 'and' or 'the'. Look at the second half of the message. There's so many R's it just doesn't make sense."

"You're right," Leyna agreed with a frown. "But… this is strange… R-something-R-R… in one word… so it would be N-something-N-N or H-something-H-H, it really doesn't make any sense. Unless it's a name or a made-up word, there's nothing like that in the common language, considering the length of the whole sequence. So what could it be? If it was 'for', it would be three O's…" She muttered something under her breath for a while before shaking her head. "No, this doesn't make sense. There's something we're missing. Maybe when there are more consecutive characters of the same kind, they make up for a single letter in our language?"

"That sounds complicated," Yrith said with a sigh. She watched Leyna scribble something on the paper, then scratching it and writing it anew. She could not suppress a smile when she realized that her elven friend was slightly like certain Nord teacher, correcting her script so all her characters would be of the same size. And then it hit her.

"Leyna!" she breathed, grabbing her shoulder. "We need to do it all over."

"What do you mean?" Leyna cocked her brows in confusion.

"You see," Yrith slowly flipped through the book again, pointing at the smudged characters, "some of these letters are capital and some are not. I think a capital R is not the same as a small r."

"Good point!" the elven girl nodded approvingly and they set to work again, finally transcribing a new code. Now, a new line of characters was put down on the paper.

PQucMQ . oh . CRQ . bCMzhQ . hzNd . CRQ . mcd . bckQ . oh . CzmQ . uRcC . RcrrQNQd . zb . NoC . noxM . hcxLC

"So, back to where we were," Leyna said and they started discussing the letters once more. Trying one option after another, they went over the possible combinations until Yrith leaned to the window, pressing her forehead against the cold glass and letting out an exhausted sigh.

"This is endless," she groaned.

"It is," Leyna uttered sullenly. "I'm sorry, Yrith. With the information we have, I don't think we can decipher this. The message is too short, there's simply too many options."

"So what do we do?"

"There has to be some kind of lead… a key or something. When people make a cipher, it means they want the information to be readable at some point. There has to be a way to decrypt it… but I just can't figure out what it is."

"Let's take a break," Yrith offered. "It's not like the message is gonna run away from us."

"Haha, you're right!" Leyna chuckled. "Let's go back and… by the Eight! How long have we been here?"

Yrith gaped at her for a moment as the realization dawned upon her. Then she slapped her forehead. "I'm sorry, Leyna! I think we missed illusion…"

"Ah, Master Neloren is going to kill us."

"No, he's going to kill _me_ ," Yrith corrected as she grabbed the book and returned the charcoal. "You're fine. You pay for your studies."

"And you don't?"

"Well, my parents are dead and everything except for the books is gone from their house, so…"

"I'm sorry," Leyna apologized hurriedly. "I had to remind you again…"

"No, it's fine. It's not like I don't think about it every day."

The Altmer eyed her with compassion Yrith could only compare to a puppy trying to please its master. She sighed.

They made their way through the laboratory and the corridor, Yrith leaning on the walls and furniture to ease the burden on her injured leg until Leyna lost her patience and grabbed the book from her, making her friend lean on her instead. They exited the house, both raising their heads to look up at the light grey sky as an occasional snowflake descended upon Nirn, adding to the white crunchy blanket under their feet. Several people were walking the streets of the city of Winterhold, too busy with tugging their thick coats closer to prevent the cold from taking over their bodies to notice them passing.

They were almost at the bridge when Yrith heard someone call to her. They both turned around to face a sturdy Nord with muscles so huge that they looked as though he had pumped them up. He was scantily clad in a set of studded armor and from behind his wheat-haired thick-bearded head protruded the handle of a large two-handed axe. He looked at the girls with his round, sky-blue eyes and his bear-like hand lifted to wave at Yrith.

"Hiya there, little lass," he spoke to her good-naturedly. "I'm finally able to meet you. They wouldn't let me in the College, y'know."

"Toddvar!" Yrith exclaimed with a laugh. "So good to see you again!" She walked to him shakily, letting herself be crushed in his mighty embrace.

"Good to see you too, Yrith," he said softly. "I heard what happened to your parents. Sorry I wasn't able to come sooner."

"But you did. How long are you going to stay?"

"Not too long, unfortunately. Been called off to one mission after another. Things are gonna get busy soon."

There was a cough and Yrith took a few steps back, nodding to the Altmer she had left behind. "By the way, this is my friend from the College, Leyna Travi."

Toddvar's eyes narrowed and he pierced Leyna with a look. "Leyna Travi, you say?" he articulated slowly. "Daughter of Feldano Travi? That Thalmor official?"

"Well," Leyna stuttered, avoiding eye contact, "yes."

"I see," he nodded his gaze not leaving her face for a second. Yrith shuddered as the atmosphere tensed, eyes shifting from one companion to another uneasily. She took a deep breath.

"How about I meet you at the College later?" she offered to her Altmer friend. Leyna nodded in silence, rushing off as soon as she could. Yrith turned to the Nord.

"That was uncalled for," she muttered with a frown.

"No, Yrith," he shook his head, "you need to be more careful. She comes from a Thalmor family. They have no sense of honor. The only thing you can expect from her is treachery."

"She can't choose her parents!" Yrith growled irritably. "Give her a chance."

"All right, all right," he said, raising his hands defensively. "Care to join me for a cup of tea?"

"Why not?" she nodded, limping to his side. He lifted her like a wooden doll and set for the inn.

"Shor's bones, what happened to you? Where's the energetic girl I know?"

"Just a cliff burying me alive," she shrugged. "Nothing special."

"A cliff? Seriously?"

"The one by the wharf. I guess the snow was too much for it."

"You better take care of yourself. Six months ago, the world lost two great people. No need to lose more."

"I'll be fine, Toddvar," she said as they entered the Frozen Hearth. She was seated by the last unoccupied table while Toddvar went to the bar, asking for tea. A few moments later, he returned with two mugs of dark liquid, steam rising from them in tiny cloudlets. He gave a curious look to the bartender, a middle-aged Nord woman with ginger hair and slightly bent back.

"No fine women here," he grunted as he sank to his chair and placed his hands on the table comfortably. "How can the mages stand living at a place like this?"

Yrith laughed. "You haven't changed one bit, Toddvar. There are some good looking ladies up in the College, but the men don't seem to care. Everyone is so obsessed with their studies they don't care about anything else."

"And what about you?" he inquired, winking. "Enjoying your school life?"

"Hah!" she snorted. "As if there was something to enjoy. Everyone is so arrogant around here! Students and teachers alike, and most of all my conjuration teacher. I'd smash that face of his!" She clenched her fists and pursed her lips.

"You don't, by any chance, mean Singird Larkwing?" he asked with a chuckle.

"How did you…"

"He's a friend of mine. Just be patient. He's a good lad, that one. A bit uptight, maybe, but his heart is in the right place."

"Uptight?" Yrith repeated, shaking her head. "That doesn't even describe it! Have you seen his room?"

"Oh Yrith," Toddvar laughed, taking a sip from his mug. He wiped his mouth with his other hand and sighed with content. "Oh, the mead is still good here."

"I thought we were having tea!" Yrith wondered, gaping at her mug only to earn herself another laugh.

" _You_ are," came the answer, "but you can't expect a Nord warrior to sit down and have _tea_ , can you?"

She smiled. "It's really good to see you, Toddvar. Say, can't I go with you to Windhelm?"

"No. You can visit sometimes, but you're safe here. Soon, Ulfric will send his men to battle and all Skyrim will be upside down. All except for this hold."

"So you're going to war?"

"We all are, lass," he said with a sad smile. "Better if you stay at the only place that is certain to be ignored by both sides. I'll be leading Ulfric's bone-crushers. Our unit is supposed to be literally unstoppable, which, of course, can't happen if someone takes you away and threatens to kill you. I don't want to lose you too."

"Toddvar," Yrith spoke silently, clutching the edge of the table, "please… promise me you'll come back. I already lost my parents. If you die, there will be no one left."

The Nord leaned over the table, stretching out his hand to ruffle her hair. "Don't underestimate me," he smiled gently. "I won't fall that easily."

She nodded, finishing her tea in silence. Not too long after, when the stout Nord carried her all the way across the bridge to the College, they parted, Yrith standing there and watching his back as he walked away, over the frail structure that seemed ready to give way under his feet and down to the city. Loneliness filled her heart again.

* * *

"Well?" Singird invited, waiting for the orc across the table to start talking. Urag raised his flagon and took a sip, draining half of it in one go. His Nord companion raised a brow.

"You first," Urag told him in his hoarse voice, sitting back in his chair, arms folded behind his head.

"Fine, have it your way," Singird sighed in resignation. "As you can probably guess, I didn't come here to teach students. That said, the wage is awfully low."

"Naturally," the orc replied curtly. "We struggle to keep ourselves alive. Go on."

"Not too long ago, I lost my parents. They died in an accident – supposedly. A landslide killed them when they traveled to Winterhold. But I have my suspicions about the cause of their death. You see, it wasn't the first time they attempted to come back, but there was always something that stopped them. The last time it was a call from Siddgeir who suspected them of allying themselves with the Stormcloaks. Our family was known for its strict neutrality, and all of a sudden, we were suspected of a political crime. My parents were kept under severe surveillance and had to clear their name by actually serving in the army."

"Politics," Urag grumbled. "Larkwing, if you involve us, I swear by Malacath that you'll be sorry."

"That's not it. I'm sticking to my neutrality," the Nord objected. "But the thing is, when my parents finally managed to set for Winterhold, they died. In an accident, I was told. They were buried close to Windhelm and I didn't make it in time to see their bodies. I know Ulfric keeps his hold clean and his men clear the roads immediately after an accident, but even so, the rocks around the roads seemed perfectly firm and stable when I went there. There was no sign of a slide ever happening there." The Nord took his mug and raised it to his lips, savoring the sweet gold liquid inside.

"And how is this all connected to Yrith?"

"I'll get to it. You see, the reason my parents went to Winterhold itself is quite curious. After some long years of thinking and discussing, they decided to study certain ritual in order to speak to my father's father. He was a wizard here at the College and died suddenly down in the Midden. The cause of his death? A cave-in."

"Larkwing, don't tell me…"

"Yes, you probably guessed it," Singird nodded, taking out his handkerchief and carefully wiping a speck of dust from the table. A corner of the orc's mouth twitched derisively.

"No," he stated in denial.

"Yes."

Urag threw up his hands, accidentally smacking a vase from the nearby shelf. He caught it in midair and casually placed it back on the shelf, ignoring Singird's scowl. "By Malacath, do you even realize what you're trying to do? There's a reason the dead go where they go. Do one thing wrong and you're sending us all to Oblivion!"

"And that's exactly why I need to make sure I _don't_ do anything wrong."

"Fine. You do whatever you want," the orc snarled quietly, downing his flagon to the bottom, "but for the sake of all the gods and Daedra out there, I am not letting you drag Yrith into this. She has enough on her mind already."

"I believe that's her choice," Singird said calmly. "Now, if I remember correctly, you owe me a story."

"Larkwing…"

"This conversation is over, gro-Shub."

"Not if I can…"

"Gro-Shub, we had a deal!"

"All right," the Orsimer whispered hoarsely. "Whatever. An orc shouldn't go back on a promise, so I'll tell you. But you will swear right here and right now that no other soul is ever going to hear about this. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear. So?"

Urag's brows shrank in a deep frown. "The reason I know about Yrith's parents is because she told me herself. I mean… she hasn't told me _yet_. But she did."

"Eh, gro-Shub… you do realize that you're not making any sense?"

"She told me before she was even born."

"How could… no!" Singird's hand shot up to cover his mouth which was now wide open.

"Yes, exactly. And I'm worried about her, Larkwing. I know what's going to happen, but I wish I didn't."

Singird looked into the orc's eyes, heavy with fear and concern, and felt something tug at his conscience. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

"No, Larkwing, this is as much as I tell you. I already broke the greatest taboo."

"Yes, you did," the Nord affirmed. "All the more reason you can tell me more."

"Larkwing…"

"Can I help?"

"Help? What do you want to help with? It's in the past! You can't change it!"

"But you're trying to," Singird remarked dryly.

The orc let out a heavy sigh. "Yes," he admitted in defeat, resting his forehead in his palms. "I'm trying to change the past."

"So? What happened?"

"She died."

Singird winced. Of course he _should have_ been ready for this kind of information. He wasn't. There was a silence, both of them sitting there motionlessly, the image of the candle-lit room fading before their eyes, retreating to the dim thoughts. But deep down in Singird's mind, a cogwheel turned and sent an impulse. He blinked to chase the dimness away and broke the silence.

"She hasn't died yet."

"But she did…"

"And yet she hasn't. We have time."

"What do you mean?" Urag asked, tilting his head in question, glancing at him from below.

"Do you know _how_ she died?"

"Maybe?"

"Then I think I have an idea. No rules broken."

Urag raised his head, eyes wide with hope. "Larkwing… if you save this girl… by all the Divines I can pray to, if you do… I swear I'll never call you a lemon-face in my life again."

"I'll take your word on that," the Nord stated as his mouth twitched in amusement.

* * *

 _Finally… after the long six months I got to update this story! I am so sorry to everyone following it for the delay! Truth be told, I had a terrible school year and eventually it all piled up on me. I only got to update my main story, and even so, I could barely write one chapter per month. The teachers went crazy and drowned us in assignments, and on top of that, I lost three people who were dear to me, one of them being my best friend whom I talked to every day. It's just been too much. So once again, I apologize for the delay. I can't promise I'll update frequently, but I'll try._

 _Anyway, as for the chapter… first I'd like to thank MadameHyde (ID 4061438) for allowing me to use the idea with mages raising their hands with palms facing themselves, because it's absolutely brilliant and I just had to use it! She used it in the story called Honor among the Thieves, which, by the way, is an absolutely amazing fanfic and I recommend it to everyone who likes high quality stories._

 _Second… the cipher. I'd just like to point out that Yrith already has everything she needs to decipher the message, she just needs to figure it out. You do too, so if you use the Elder Scrolls lore correctly, you can actually decrypt it quite easily. Thumbs up for everyone who manages to do it. :)  
(A rant aimed at Fanfiction-net: Srsly, screw your link censorship! Four hours after publishing the chapter, after some people read it already, I noticed that the cipher was censored. I had to paste it again and put spaces between the characters and the dots. This is really as lame as it can get. Apologies to my readers.)  
_

 _Third… you might think I revealed everything in this chapter. If you do, you're wrong. Actually, the real fun is just starting. Yesterday, I spent five hours thinking up various details of the story, and I can assure you it's going to turn into quite a long run. Brace yourselves!_

 _I hope I didn't mess up the characters. It's been so long since I last wrote this one that I have to get into it again. Please, tell me if there's something that doesn't sit well with you in this chapter._

 _Twillin:_ _Well, about destroying all Nirn… well, it's the time paradox, of course! :D Thank you for the comment, it was very encouraging!_

 _tirechanclas:_ _Thank you very much for your kind words! I so love Urag… I hope he continues to write himself well. :D_

 _Also, many thanks to everyone who favorited/followed, and of course to dart0808 who did the beta._

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	8. Death's Grasp

_I am aware that there is no third floor in the Hall of Attainment. I made it up because, well… there was no kitchen in the College. A bit of miscalculation on the part of Bethesda, so I took the liberty of fixing it. On to the chapter now. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 08: Death's Grasp**

 _Down the road and over the sea  
shadows hanging over me  
mead is flowing, sound the horns  
for beggar prince with crown of thorns_

The quiet sound of Yrith's voice carried through the deserted courtyard as she sang her favorite song. A flake of snow, dyed blue in the bright light coming from the fountain at the center, now strangely distorted for an unknown reason, fell to her feet and dissolved into an indiscernible drop of water on the grey stone tiles. She did not feel like talking to anyone, much less like returning back to her own room, dark and quiet and without anyone to keep her company. This was the state of mind that she hated the most and confronted the most often, the utter loneliness which, paradoxically, distanced her from others. She screamed at herself inwardly to make up her mind and decide what she wanted, but nothing helped. Her house and Toddvar had so painfully reminded her of the relatively happy times spent with her parents that it made her heart ache with regret. And then there was Urag…

She sighed. Limping on her right leg, she made her way to the Hall of Attainment. Even there, countless sparks shot from the fountain of light at the center, as though it was restless, uneasy. With a shrug, she opened the door to her room, as grey and barren as she had expected it to be. On her bed lay the book that was her curse and blessing in one, its dark cover emphasizing the murky atmosphere. She lit the candles standing on the shelf and threw herself on the bed, opening the book on the introduction page.

 _You can never escape your destiny._

What was destiny anyway? A term that everyone knew but no one could properly describe, a word so binding that it made people want to scream, and yet so vague that no one believed in it. She flipped to the next page filled with more of Septimus Signus's daedric-like jagged script, as though the mage had been undergoing the symptoms of madness when writing it, but for that, the text itself sounded strangely sane.

 _To understand what time travel is, a good amount of theory is needed first. I will start with the introduction on souls and their capabilities, followed by the explanation of the character of the space-time continuum. I advise my readers to return to the first section of the book after reading the second, for these two things are best learnt simultaneously. Let us first assume that time cannot exist without a soul and a soul cannot exist without time, and therefore you cannot grasp one without fully understanding the other. That said, let us move on to the first chapter._

 _There are many theories on what exactly a soul is, and none can be truly proved or disproved. After all, each individual, each soul exists in its own universe and its own space-time continuum, which is the only way we can explain why some people consider an hour a long time while others think it painfully short. The keyword to this phenomenon is relativity. However, considering the word itself, relativity cannot be absolute, because if that was true, one would be able to travel in their own space-time continuum to their heart's content without any restriction. As it is not possible and we have to abide by rules from the outside, there has to be a connection to the outside world, an anchor depriving our souls of their absoluteness. This anchor is what allows us to see our relativity to others' souls and to the world we are bound to._

Yrith let out an exhausted breath, reconsidering what she had thought before. No, this person could not be in his right mind. But if she was really to travel in time, she had to understand this text.

Her mind drifted to Urag again. She had never seen him this mad before. What if he would never forgive her? Had she offended him so badly? Had she just lost one of the few people who truly stood on her side?

She snapped the book shut and hugged it as though it was a stuffed animal, resting her head on its dark leather cover. Her eyes followed the flickering flame of the candle, hypnotized by its glow and silent crackling which emanated somewhat homely atmosphere. She remembered the cold winter nights back at her old home, spent with her ever studious parents. Of course, it was now summer, the Dancing Day just around the corner, but there was no summer in Winterhold, and the long evenings felt just as cold as they had been back in Morning Star, and she couldn't think of anyone to celebrate the Dancing Day with anyway. She slowly closed her eyes and her mind sank into a haze.

A while later it was interrupted by a knock on the door. Yrith opened one eye, staring at it drowsily, and another knock, a little stronger than the first one, cut through the silence.

"I know you're there. Open up!" a voice called from behind the door. Yrith shuddered and quickly hid the book underneath her pillow, jumping up on her feet before she remembered her injury. She squealed and lost her balance, grabbing the nearby chair. She ended up lying flat on the floor, the blasted piece of furniture falling right on her leg, and gasped with pain. The door opened abruptly and at the threshold stood the fuming Faralda. She scrutinized the girl before her with a single look and her lips twisted into a humorless grin.

"Serves you right!" she scoffed. "I told Master Marence to pick you up after illusion. But guess what happened!"

Yrith gave her a look full of quilt. "I'm sorry," she mouthed and dropped her eyes, gazing at Faralda's fashionable boots.

"I bet you are," the Altmer snorted. "Now move that butt of yours and have that leg treated. Master Marence should be in her room. I ought to give you a detention for this, but it seems Larkwing has something in stock for you, so make sure you pay him a visit as well."

"I'm not…"

"And _no_ talking back!"

"Yes, Lady Faralda…"

The elf turned on her heel and marched away, leaving the door open behind her. No sooner than her footsteps faded in the distance did Yrith stand up, her healthy leg shaking under her weight. With a sigh, she put the dark-covered book in her trunk and locked it. Blowing the candle fire out, she left the room and hobbled across the Hall of Attainment and the courtyard to the Hall of Countenance.

It was strangely quiet when she entered, all its occupants seemed to be either in their rooms or outside. The blue fountain at the center crackled and produced tiny sparks which fluttered around, filling the air with soft glowing mist. Then, one of the surrounding doors opened abruptly and from it rushed an elderly white-haired Dunmer. Yrith recognized Drevis Neloren, her illusion teacher. On his way, he pulled on a pair of dark leather gloves with a light ornament on their back shaped like a star with countless points in a thick circle made of skew dashes, lines stretching from it up to the tips of the fingers, making them seem like bones. He stopped upon laying his eyes on Yrith and let out a heavy sigh.

"There is our truant," he shook his head. "Shame on you, Yrith Ravencroft. Skipping classes is one thing, but leaving the College in this state? Are you aware of how worried Miss Faralda was when she couldn't find you anywhere?"

"She was?" Yrith mumbled timidly, avoiding eye contact.

"She kept running from building to building, asking everyone if they'd seen you. Are you satisfied with yourself now?"

The Breton girl locked her eyes on the floor tiles, studying their smoothed texture. "I'm sorry…"

"Am I really the one who you should be apologizing to? But since you're already here, come and help me with this," he nodded to the fountain. "I need to cleanse the focal points."

"Are they… dirty?" Yrith asked curiously, tilting her head to the side.

One corner of Drevis's mouth twitched in amusement. "They become polluted over time, or whenever the College's security is damaged. Now, just stand there and tell me when the current steadies itself so I can tune it without having to check."

Yrith nodded as the teacher delved into the beam of light, casting a spell which shot through the white lines on his gloves and mixed with the blue glow. It flashed and flickered several times before steadying at a stable pace, flowing freely to the skies through the round gap in the ceiling high above their heads. Yrith signaled to Drevis to stop.

"Good," he said, blinking in the light. "I shall now proceed to the courtyard. I believe you're here to visit Miss Marence? Come see me when you're done. I'll give you the assignment for our next illusion class."

She gave him another nod and limped to the stairs leading to the upper floors. "Strange, I thought I cleansed them a few days ago," she heard him mutter under his breath before he left the building. She knocked on the door and was immediately greeted by the restoration teacher, her hairstyle a set of elegant curls held in place by a number of decently decorated silver pins this time. Her hands shot up before falling to her thighs with a clap.

"Now who do we have here, eh?" she called with that annoyingly high pitched voice of hers. "Come in. On the bed and stay still while I do the treatment. It won't take long."

"I'm sorry I ran off," Yrith said penitently as she strode across the room and laid herself on the very bed where she had woken up that morning. She watched as Colette Marence examined her leg, wincing slightly when the teacher touched an especially sore spot.

"You go apologize to your patron," Master Marence countered. "She was running all over the place in search for you."

Yrith sighed. She closed her eyes but realized that it made her nervous to be treated without knowing what exactly was going on, and so she opened them again, her eyes following her teacher's fingers which were now skillfully gliding along her calf, their tips glowing with the golden light of a healing spell. Her leg started itching and she had to suppress the need to shift it, but the intervention was over as quickly as it had begun and soon she was let out of the bed again. Master Marence pressed a red bottle into Yrith's hand after finishing her job.

"Drink this," she prompted her, "all the way down to the bottom. Tomorrow morning you'll feel like a new person."

"Thank you, Master Marence," Yrith said with a slight bow, almost losing her balance.

"And be careful. I advise you to stay on the College grounds for the time being. We secured the cliff, but since a lot of our protective spells seem to be wearing off lately, I'd say it's not safe out there. It might seem like a trivial issue to you, but this land is treacherous and the College would not have survived if not for the magic. Let us first make sure that everything is secure before you have to worry us sick by taking strolls outside, okay?"

Yrith pinned her eyes to the ground. Were they really so worried about her? Or were they just trying to restrain her? She could not be certain, but what was there to lose if she obeyed them for once? She would wait for the time being until things were clearer.

"I'm sorry," she said for the umpteenth time that day. "I'll be more careful."

She downed the potion that had been handed to her in a few gulps, grimacing as she swallowed the bitter liquid. Someone had attempted to make it more bearable by putting in snowberries but achieved little effect. Handing the empty flask back to the teacher, she excused herself and headed downstairs, seeking her destruction teacher, but she could not find Faralda in her room. Singird Larkwing seemed to be out as well so she made for the room of Drevis Neloren and picked up her assignment. She was instructed to write an essay on the differences between direct and indirect mind control, which she could not quite welcome with a smile, but as she felt guilty about skipping his class before, she internally decided not to sabotage anything this time. She felt slightly weary when exiting the Hall of Countenance, wondering what could have drained the energy from her, considering she had had a nap just before she went there. But there was no use mulling over it, so she brushed the thought off with a shrug just as she caught sight of a few of her classmates pacing across the courtyard to the Hall of Attainment. They scoffed at her derisively when they approached her.

"Looking to join your friend up in the kitchen? Ha'risha is going to starve today!" the bronze-furred Khajiit cried affectedly, causing the two Mer boys around her to pat her on the shoulders soothingly. Yrith scowled.

"It's okay, Rish, we won't let you starve…"

"Ha, like you can do better in the kitchen than that blasted traitorous Dunmer," she snorted.

Yrith raised her brows in question. "Cain is… cooking?" she wondered.

"Oh, you don't know?" the catgirl drawled. "Seriously, how ignorant can one get? To think it's your fault that he has to…" She shrugged without finishing the sentence and beckoned to her companions to follow her.

"Wait, what do you mean?" Yrith called to her but only earned herself a laugh.

"Use that teeny-weeny brain of yours to figure it out yourself!" the Khajiit returned and with that, the group disappeared behind the studded door to the Hall of Attainment.

Yrith followed them hesitantly, taking her time to possibly avoid more sneers before entering the dormitory. She looked around and climbed up the stairs, surprised to see Qassir's room empty and open. Proceeding to the third floor, she headed to the kitchen which filled most of it, and indeed, a fiery-haired Dunmer stood by one of the cabinets, cutting a piece of fish in a very unprofessional way. She winced as the knife's blade approached his thumb, barely avoiding contact.

"Shall I teach you how to do it?" she asked with her head tilted to the side, at which the Dunmer squealed and dropped the knife, clutching his chest as the ringing sound of steel on stone filled the room.

"You… midget… do not scare me like this!" he panted, bending over to pick up the knife.

"Feeling guilty about something?" she smirked.

"No, but you should," he retorted angrily. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"I… don't know?"

"Obviously… well, Larkwing decided it was dangerous outside, so he made me work in the kitchen instead of collecting the fish. And Nirya thought it a brilliant idea to just dump _all_ the work on me!"

Yrith let out a sigh. Obviously, the whole world had decided to make her feel as guilty as possible. "Let me help you," she said colorlessly, picking up a clean knife from the shelf. "This is how you cut a fish."

She took a fresh fish from a barrel nearby, placing it on a table standing next to it and raised the blade. "Start with the head," she explained as she demonstrated, cutting the head off. Cain put on a disgusted grimace at the snapping sound of the spine being cut through. "Then remove the bottom fins like this. Continue with the dorsal fin and make a shallow cut along the backbone. And then another one a little bit deeper, and another one… and the next one is going to cut through the pin bones. And then you cut deeper along the lower half like this until it comes off. Do the same with the bottom part, remove the pin bones like this… and voilà! Here's your boneless fish! Now the only thing that remains is to skin it. And don't forget you can't apply pressure to the knife." She presented him with two perfectly shaped fillets. He stared at her.

"Seems like there's at least _something_ you can do," he commented dryly.

Yrith shrugged, unoffended. "My mom and dad were always busy with their studies, so every time I went to the fishery, I asked to have the fish carved so they wouldn't have to bother with it. When you see it a hundred times, you're bound to remember how it's done. I asked the vendor to let me do it once and ever since then, I always took it home a-whole and did it myself."

"Well then," Cain said with a twitch in his eye, "it's not like I'm happy to be stuck with you again, but since you're so skilled with the fish," he pronounced the word with a trace of contempt in his voice, "I shall let you teach me."

Yrith rolled her eyes. "Now listen. I'm only here because I have to. I don't do charity, so drop the act."

"Since when do you _have to_?"

"Since I was put on detention with you?"

Cain slapped his forehead. "You're really so oblivious… no, I was told Larkwing had something else for you. And you know what? Just go back to your happy-go-lucky life without care for the rest of the world. I'm a smart guy so I'll manage."

Yrith stared at him with her lips pursed, her rebellious stance slightly spoilt by the state of her right leg. "You know, I… ah," she shook her head and threw up her hands, the knife still in her grip which made the Dunmer back away abruptly.

"C-careful with that thing!" he pointed to the blade with a shaky finger.

"Sorry," she said and put it down. "Look, this is all so stupid… we're both hated here, so why don't we stick together and help each other out?"

"And whose fault do you think it is?" he snarled at her. "Who do you think is responsible for me being cast out like a leper?"

Yrith knit her brows in exasperation. "And you should be grateful. Would you really be happy with people like that?"

Cain opened his mouth to retort but suddenly found no words to counter her argument. There was a short silence when the two of them kept staring at each other until he finally spoke. "I… well… what is it with you girls anyway, always changing their mind like this? I was there this morning, asking you to pair up with me…"

"…and Qassir didn't even let me talk…"

"…but you ended up with Leyna!"

"Well, she was nice to me," Yrith shrugged.

"Cheap," Cain snorted.

There was another pause. Then Yrith broke it. "Well… that aside, how about we take care of this for starters?" she gestured to the fish and the few barrels of potatoes and vegetables waiting to be cut.

"You really want to bother about it?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Let's say it's a payback for saving my life back then. Sorry it's so… cheap." She gave him an apologetic smile. He shook his head.

"Well," he said, exhaling deeply as he took his knife and turned to his fish, "I'll take that as a thank you."

They continued in silence, only sporadically exchanging words on how to proceed. A few piles of cut fish and side dishes were slowly rising around them until an Altmer woman called Nirya came and gave instructions on how to cook them. Yrith never liked Nirya, for the woman always sounded like the personification of arrogance, and on top of that, she kept slandering Lady Faralda to no end. She was only polite when it was beneficial for her – and that wasn't very often.

"Well, I see you managed to cut it, which is, in all honesty, more than I expected of you," she said in her mannered voice. For some reason, every time she spoke, Yrith imagined a snake slithering over a boulder. "Unfortunately, the College cannot afford to buy spices, so now you just put some salt on it and fry it. And don't waste any oil. Oh, and cook the potatoes. I wonder if this task is too hard for you…"

She left the room, muttering to herself. Yrith gave a faint smile at the angry vein that popped out on Cain's forehead.

"Who does she think she is?" he grunted.

They followed Nirya's instructions, Yrith yet again happy that her flames weren't the vicious, wild flames that most mages produced while Cain stared at her with critical eye.

"Too bad there's no spell to cut fish and veggies," he said with a sigh.

"That's because people always think of ways to kill, but never of the stuff they do every day," Yrith remarked sardonically.

"Hey, but you need to kill in order to feed yourself."

"True, but you don't need a fireball or chain lightning to kill a deer. So instead of inventing more powerful killing tools, they could focus on the practical things." She took a small chop of salmon that was handed to her for tasting and put it in her mouth.

"Hey, you don't get the thrill…" the Dunmer breathed with a dreamy smile. Yrith let out an irritated scoff.

"Don't even joke about that," she said curtly.

"Say, you're always so sensitive about this… did something happen to you in the past?"

Yrith frowned, dumping a slice of salmon on a plate with considerably more force than she had intended, making it land with a smacking sound and split in the middle. Cain winced in surprise but did not say anything about it, waiting for an answer.

"Something happened," she said quietly. He watched as she placed another piece of fish on the pan, expecting her to say something, but no other sound escaped her mouth.

"Care to elaborate?" he asked at last.

"No," she replied tersely. "This is the last one, I think we can serve it."

"Are you going to tell me one day?" Cain continued his questioning as he took a few plates from her, filling them with fish, potatoes and vegetables.

"And what good would it do if you knew?" She put a few plates on a tray, making for the stairs, but found herself unable to walk down without leaning to a wall. Cain took the tray from her with a sigh, delivering the first portion to Tolfdir, their alteration teacher. Then, he leaned over the low wall surrounding the blue beam of light at the center of the tower.

"Come get your food!" he called, and in that instant, all the doors opened and the air was suddenly filled with footsteps and the fluttering sound of mages robes. Cain quickly made his way back to the kitchen where Yrith was already helping herself to a portion of salmon.

"So? How is it?" he asked.

"As tasteless as ever," she replied with a shrug as she took a bite of a potato. His mouth twitched.

The kitchen was soon crowded with their classmates as well as the teachers and older students, everyone grabbing their meal. Yrith, following Cain's example, did not bother handing them over and sat down on the closest chair instead, exhaustion spreading throughout her body as she finished her meal. Her limbs felt heavy and she wondered whether she had become sick or the strain on her leg was simply too much for her to function normally. As though reading her thoughts, a Khajiit in expert robes approached her and gave her a concerned look.

"J'zargo thanks you for the meal," he said, raising his plate, "but is concerned about your health. The color in your face is as cold as the sands. If you need healing, come to J'zargo for treatment."

Yrith looked up to his face, studying it for a moment. Then she smiled. "Thank you, Master J'zargo. I'll consider it." The Khajiit nodded and excused himself.

Rushing up the stairs came Qassir, panting but smiling. The crowd of students turned to him, all except Cain, Yrith. The Redguard winked at Yrith but she quickly turned away, watching the stairs. A mop of shiny blonde hair appeared in her sight, soon followed by the slender face and elegant body of Leyna Travi. She waved at Yrith and joined her.

"I thought I'd find you here," she said. "I have your book." She handed her the book they had been studying earlier that day and Yrith accepted it with a nod.

"Thank you. And sorry about Toddvar. He's a good person, but stubborn as a mule. He fights for the Stormcloaks and can't understand that kids don't welcome the war half as much as their parents do."

"Toddvar?" Cain asked with a raised brow but Yrith only waved her hand.

"A friend of mine," she replied simply.

"So you _do_ have friends."

"He was my parents' friend, okay? They got to know him when we moved here."

Leyna shrugged. "It's okay. I think I understand how he feels. Though I was surprised he knew my father. He's not that well-known among the Thalmor. Never tried to be, I think."

"Toddvar is a high-ranking Stormcloak and gets his orders directly from Ulfric," Yrith shrugged. "Who knows what kind of information gets to him."

"Strange. What was such a high-ranking person doing here in Winterhold?" Leyna mused.

"Visiting me and Larkwing and checking the situation, as I understand it."

"Alone?"

"There were guards all around." Yrith shifted uneasily in her seat. Leyna's questions put her in a very uncomfortable position and deep in her mind, she was searching for a way to change the subject. She felt a dark haze clouding her mind, the exhaustion getting the better of her, and so she put her tray aside, straightening her back.

"I think I'm going to take a nap," she said with a yawn.

"So soon?" There was a trace of disappointment in the Altmer's voice.

"Sorry. I feel…" The words turned into a clump in Yrith's throat as she stood up. Suddenly, the world went spinning and she let out a silent moan, falling to her knees. Sharp pain shot up from her stomach and then she felt hot bitter liquid spill out of her mouth. Several shrieks followed, blending into a cacophony of sounds in which a familiar voice was heard occasionally.

"What… Ravencroft, that's disgusting!" Ha'risha's words reached Yrith's ears.

"Shut your trap, you blasted piece of daedroth! She's choking!" That was Cain, kneeling down beside her.

"What's happening here?" an elderly voice called from the distance.

"Ravencroft ate too much…"

"What in Oblivion _is_ this?!" someone shouted, although Yrith had no idea what they were talking about and there was no time to try to figure it out.

Yrith tried to breathe, curling on the floor. The pain in the stomach was paralyzing, making her tremble heavily. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, looking at her shocked classmates and teachers, and then her gaze turned to the floor. She suppressed a gasp as she squinted at a puddle of dark swirling liquid.

"Yrith, are you all right?!"

The world turned upside down again and more came out with a gurgling sound. More screams followed.

"Ni…" she gasped.

"Midget!"

"Nirnroot…"

"What?!"

"…and Deathbell…"

"What are you…"

"Bring them to me!" she managed to articulate before another wave came.

"Both Nirnroot and Deathbell are poisonous…"

"It'll… help! Trust… ugh!"

"Someone get what she wants!"

"I'm on it!"

"No! You students stay here with her, I'll get it!" That was definitely Tolfdir. For an old man, he was surprisingly energetic, quickly hopping down from the stairs.

Yrith's sight started to blur and she could barely hear anything anymore. She noticed a pair of hands grabbing her upper arm but failed to see to whom they belonged. Strange warmth started spreading in her body and she was tempted to give in to it, lie down and just…

 _No!_ she reminded herself sharply. _The moment you do, you die!_

"…rith…"

She opened her eyes again.

"Yrith!" someone called. A grey-haired Nord was kneeling before her, handing her a bundle of light green glowing leaves and a few flowers with petals arranged in small clusters in shades of bright blue and purple. She took all of it with shaking hands, filling her mouth and forcing herself to chew. The sensation was awful and she had to resist the urge to spit it out. It stung and burned her tongue, quickly making its way down her throat and into the stomach, but after just a moment, the pain subsided and she finally managed to catch her breath.

She looked around to find herself surrounded with just about everyone she could think of, staring at her with eyes wide in shock. From behind, she heard the high-pitched voice of Colette Marence quickly making her way through the crowd.

"By the Eight, girl, I take my eyes off you for just a while and this is what happens?" she exclaimed, throwing up her arms. "Now what _is_ it that actually happened here?"

"I… don't understand," Yrith shook her head, staring at the repulsive puddle before her. "This… doesn't make any sense…"

"She's confused," someone said compassionately.

"Well, serves her right!"

"Enough, Ha'risha!"

"Yrith, dear, why don't you come with me so I can take a look at you…" the restoration teacher began, but Yrith did not wait for her to finish.

"No, I'm fine…"

"Of course, but just in case…"

"You don't understand! This poison!" she pointed at the puddle. "I thought my parents were the only ones in Winterhold who knew how to brew it."

"She's been poisoned?" murmurs spread around her like circles on the water.

"Why? By who?"

"What kind of poison is this?"

"If this is a poison… it can't be!" Tolfdir whispered, turning his concerned face to Colette. She shook her head and knit her brows.

"What in the name of Talos is going on here?" a sharp, clear voice cut through the air like a blade. Yrith looked up to the newcomer, her eyes finding Singird Larkwing pacing through the mass of people who quickly stepped out of his way. He was closely followed by Urag whose face was now twisted in a deep frown, the aura around him making everyone back away instantly. "Miss Ravencroft? What… oh gods! Nirnroot!"

"She already had some," Colette said.

"Master Larkwing, you know what this is?" Leyna asked, clutching Yrith's arm. The Breton shifted uneasily.

"I've heard of it. There are very few people who can make it, and its use is considered absolute taboo."

"But what is it?"

"Spirit's Blight," Yrith said grimly before the Nord could reply. "The only poison known to affect soul energies as well as physical body. It can only be countered with another strong poison." Singird nodded.

"But that's… who could have made such a thing?" Colette asked, covering her mouth with her hand.

"I hear the time before it starts taking effect is fairly short," Singird informed. "An hour or two maybe…"

"So…" this time it was Nirya's slick voice that spoke from amidst the crowd, "that only leaves the Dunmer." She pointed a thin finger to Cain.

Everyone turned to him, still kneeling beside Yrith. He looked up with his mouth open ajar, eyes wide with shock. She could feel his heavy breath and the air dancing around him as he shook his head.

"I didn't…"

"Oh please, you can't think that a child like him could brew such a thing," Tolfdir said incredulously.

"We will see," Urag growled with his hoarse voice, staring at Cain with pure hatred.

"But… that's impossible," Yrith objected, watching her Dunmer classmate out of the corner of her eye. "He wouldn't even have the time to…"

"It's not impossible," Singird uttered quietly. "Can you even count the moments you took your eyes off him? And, to top it off, he was there with you yesterday as well, no?"

Yrith stared at him in disbelief. "What? You don't mean… that's ridiculous!"

"Yrith," Colette said in that compassionate tone of hers as she bent down to face her, "you're very tired and probably very hurt. Come, sleep on it a little."

"But…"

"Come," she repeated, pulling the Breton on her feet. She put her hand around Yrith's waist gently, dragging her out of the scene. Everyone was silent now, letting them pass without a word.

Yrith turned around to give one last look to the helpless Dunmer boy who, still on the ground, stared at her spitefully before turning away. She clenched her fists. This was simply too much. Anger swirled inside her and bubbled to the surface of her thoughts. Suddenly, she felt a strong urge to cling to her life at any cost. The very life that she had been doubting and the very life she had almost lost twice in the last two days. No, this was a challenge that she would not refuse. Whoever was behind this would pay by her own hand.

She let herself be steered down and out of the Hall of Attainment, towards the teachers' dormitories, ignoring her guide who was patting her gently on the shoulder. She had to laugh at the irony of it all. Only when she felt the death's grip on her soul did she finally find the resolve to live.

* * *

 _A bit of a lengthy chapter, so I apologize if that doesn't suit your taste (though this story was meant to be slow-paced, kind of). I wanted to focus a little bit on Yrith's mind processes and her relationship with other characters. That said, she and Cain are back to square one as of now… maybe. :D_

 _Oh, and by the way, I studied how to carve fish because of this chapter. So you can actually use it as a tutorial. Ehm. :D_

 _Not really much more I can say about this one. The next one is going to be named "The Arch-Mage" – so you can guess what it's going to be about. A task for you – guess what race the Arch-Mage is going to be! :D_ _[Dart alternately says: I guessed what it was correctly so now Mirmir isn't including my comment nyoo hoo hoo ;-;]_

 _To the_ _Guest_ _who commented on my last chapter: Thank you for your lovely review! I hope you continue to like it._

 _To_ _dart0808_ _: As always, thank you for the beta. :)_

 _To everyone else: Thank you for favoriting/following/reviewing the story and see you next time!_

 _Mirwen_


	9. Someone You Can Trust

_I am sorry! I am so so sorry to all of you readers who were waiting for a chapter about the Arch-Mage. Truth be told, that was the plan... until I had almost 5k words down already and I realized I won't be able to introduce her without making this chapter awfully long (and by awfully long I mean over 10k words). Therefore I am sorry but she will be in the next chapter. Still, I hope you find this one interesting. I quite enjoyed writing it._

* * *

 **Chapter 09: Someone You Can Trust**

Yrith woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Colette Marence's steady breathing. The restoration teacher was sleeping on the floor, wrapped in a bedroll, and a feeling of guilt crept into Yrith's mind when she realized she had been sleeping on her teacher's bed, for two nights no less. The room was lit by the bright light of aurora coming from outside. For once, the skies were crystal clear and the stars sprinkled over them glittered merrily above the College towers. Seeing such a scenery, Yrith could not but forgive this land for its harsh cold. Even if she missed High Rock, there was something about Skyrim that attracted her and made her feel at home.

Vaguely recalling what had happened the night before, a feeling of restlessness overtook her and she slid from her bed as quietly as she could, noting that the pain in her leg had subsided into no more than a slight itch. She had been left in her dress this time, miraculously untouched by the dark liquid she had vomited before, and so she just slipped into her shoes and left the room. She was tempted to venture outside, despite being told not to, but found the massive entrance gates locked. She sighed, knowing that no pick could open these, as every time they were closed it meant they were sealed by magic of great power.

A little lost as to what to do, she walked all the way up to the kitchen, only to find it clean and empty. Nothing there indicated what had happened. The barrels were shut tight and the dishes washed, and no light save for the glow of aurora dimmed by the window glass illuminated the vast space.

"The Moons are hiding from the eyes of the Khajiit," came a voice from behind and Yrith turned to face J'zargo. She had never paid attention to his features, but now his silvery fur seemed to respond to the glow from the outside, giving out an ethereal aura, and his sky blue eyes emphasized it. "There is something dark in the air tonight."

She tilted her head to the side. "You Khajiit are pretty sensitive about the Moons, aren't you?"

"Sensitive?" J'zargo repeated with a faint smile. "If you say that, then you do not understand the Khajiit at all. The Moons guide us. They protect us, watch over us and even determine who we are when a cub is born. The Moons are a part of ourselves."

"All right, all right," Yrith defended, raising her hands, palms turned inwards, even though she could not cast a proper spell to harm anyone. She had adopted some of the mages' habits way too easily. "If you say so. But you said they were hiding?"

"There are legends… legends that tell of dark times when the Moons disappear from the sky. J'zargo was told about the Great War, and how the heavens turned dark. The Khajiit cannot live without the Moons, and so in their fear of what lay in wait for them, they submitted to the Aldmeri Dominion. This was by no means a deliberate choice. When the Moons disappear, the Khajiit lose their way."

Yrith leaned to the window, wiping a spot on it so she could see what was outside. She gazed at the sky, her eyes following the glowing nebula belt spanning across it, but caught sight of no moons on that deep sea of black.

"Are they really gone?"

"They are hiding. It makes the Khajiit restless. It makes everyone restless. J'zargo believes he knows the reason behind your presence."

Yrith shrugged. "I think I just slept for too long. So, you can't sleep because you can't see the Moons?"

"I cannot feel them, and that is the major difference," J'zargo said in that strangely calm accented voice of his. He paced across the kitchen, scanning his surroundings thoughtfully. "J'zargo knows when something is coming. Something has been coming for a long time, but it is getting worse."

"You speak in riddles."

"That is because the heavens speak in riddles," the Khajiit countered with a smile. "But J'zargo is certain that you getting poisoned was not a coincidence."

"Say, Master J'zargo," Yrith addressed him, scratching her head, "you're a skilled mage, right?"

"Skilled, yes, but not the best. Yet." That last note made Yrith smile to herself.

"Do you know how to brew the Spirit's Blight?"

The Khajiit's eyes widened, and for the first time ever since Yrith had gotten to know him, he seemed to have lost his composure. "Even if J'zargo believes himself to be a great mage and is willing to do much to become the Arch-Mage, he would not stoop so low as to poison a fellow initiate."

"That's not it!" she defended with a fierce shake of her head. "I was wondering… maybe if I knew how to do it, I could find some kind of clue that would lead me to the culprit." She made her way to a chair standing by the cabinet. Shivers ran through her bones when she sat down on the cold wood.

"Ah, so you want to investigate?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," J'zargo twitched his ear which made Yrith want to scratch him on the back of his head, "maybe there is a way J'zargo could help. Though the library might be a good starting point."

"There's just one slight problem with the library."

"Yes?"

"Urag. He won't let me do it, and anyone else looking into it would seem suspicious."

"That is a precarious situation indeed."

"You just said you could help me." There was something between impatience and reproach in Yrith's eyes, but the Khajiit did not seem to mind at all. She could not tell whether he was really smiling at her or it was just the way Khajiit usually looked, but J'zargo seemed always calm, unrushed. If she left out the fact that he was now pacing back and forth, but even his pacing seemed somewhat composed.

"Indeed," he said softly. "But it would mean contacting people who are not considered… welcome in Skyrim. Would you still be interested?"

Yrith tilted her head to the side curiously. "And by not welcome you mean…?"

"Criminals, thieves… smugglers, to be precise."

"Of course! They would know a lot. But… would they know this?"

"J'zargo is quite certain that this particular poison is not made with ingredients you can find normally in Skyrim. And there is no easier way to obtain these materials than to send a Khajiit. On top of that, a mage must have created it. An ordinary alchemist would not know the magic necessary to mix these ingredients."

"They could have sent someone to get it for them," Yrith said with a shrug.

"What a clever girl," J'zargo nodded in appreciation, this time smiling in earnest. "But even agents leave traces. And the Khajiit always remember… for a price."

"But… I don't have anything."

"Is that so?" he asked mysteriously. Stopping in the middle of the room, he suddenly turned around and made for the stairs.

"Wait!" she called to him. "What's going to happen now?"

"J'zargo will contact a reliable source," the Khajiit replied quietly. "The rest will be up to you."

His head disappeared beyond the horizon presented by the stone stairs, leaving the Breton girl alone once more. She sighed. There was nothing for her to do, but she did not feel the slightest need to sleep, and so she headed to her room, lighting a candle and laying herself on the bed with Septimus Signus's book again. Strangely enough, she was in no mood for studying time travel at the moment and found herself staring at the jagged script filling the pages for a good while before snapping herself back to Nirn.

 _A soul is an accumulation of energy,_ was the first sentence she laid her eyes on, _but unlike fire or a force field, it has special properties. It is connected to the Time which allows it to remain in Mundus for unlimited time unless it is forcefully destroyed by magic. Considering that magic itself is the power of the soul, it is believed that souls used for magical purposes simply return to the cycle so they can be recreated as new souls. That said, for every spell whose source is not its caller, an extra soul is necessary._

That sounded logical. Yrith barely knew anything about enchanting, but remembered how Sergius Turrianus, the local grumpy Imperial enchanting master, always asked his colleagues to bring him as many filled soul gems as they could whenever they ventured out of the College. There were mages who were skilled enough to recharge a weapon using their own soul energy, but a new enchantment always required an extra soul so the wielder of the enchanted weapon would not have to use their own. After all, most of these enchanted weapons were to be wielded by warriors like Toddvar who knew no magic whatsoever, as mages would manage with their spells alone.

She rolled over to her back and stretched her limbs, looking out from the window again. The lights were still there, yet no moons were present among the infinite glittering gems. In an hour or two, they would fade out, retreating to the sunlight. She wondered what the new day would bring. The first class of the morning would be conjuration, and she was not looking forward to meeting certain Nord teacher who had the gall to break the promise he had made to her. In the end, it might have been he who had poisoned her, since he was so persistent in accusing the poor Dunmer who, despite being an insufferable smarty-pants and a former bully, did not deserve such treatment.

Preoccupied with countless thoughts of what was and what would be, she lay there until dawn and even long after that. No sooner were her thoughts interrupted than a loud knock on the door reverberated in the air. She kicked herself out of the bed and opened it, facing a fuming Colette Marence who was staring at her with utter disbelief.

"Y-rith Ra-ven-croft!" she exclaimed, putting accent on every single syllable to express her agitation. Yrith winced as the sound of countless doors being swung open echoed in the Hall of Attainment. She could only imagine the heads appearing in the room entrances, with morning hair and eyes opened ajar, looking for the source of the commotion. "Why do I _always_ have to go look for you?! Are you enjoying this? Can't you think at least a little bit ahead?!"

"Master Marence," Yrith stammered, taking a quick step back, "I… I didn't know I wasn't supposed to…"

"Someone just tried to _kill_ you! Do you really expect that there will always be someone to help you?!"

"No, I… I'm… sorry…"

"Then get into the Hall of the Elements at once. You will wait there until the class begins."

"Um… Master Marence, am I to be guarded like this all the time?"

"Yes, for now. Until we find the culprit."

"That's just so bothersome!" Yrith wailed, clasping her head with both of her hands. The restoration teacher rolled her eyes.

"Well, you can be bothered, or you can be dead. I'd say it's your choice, but as we don't want to see anyone dying on the College grounds, it is not."

"And that's it?" Yrith breathed incredulously. "It would be a drag if someone died? Or it would affect your precious reputation? In the end, that's all you care about, isn't it?" Spitting the last sentence with utter distaste, she shoved the shocked teacher away, stomping out in the cold air. She noticed a number of buckets filled with water and prepared for the morning baths standing aloof. She took one of them and dumped all its contents on herself in one wild swing, grimacing at the stinging sensation of the ice cold water on her pale skin.

"Miss Ravencroft, what are you… where in Oblivion do you think you're going?!" Master Marence called after her as she stormed out of the students' dormitories, barely catching up to Yrith who was yet again pacing across the courtyard, shivering in the cold. The statue of Arch-Mage Shalidor welcomed her with its usual fierce look and wind-blown robes, and she granted it a single irritated glance.

"To the Hall of the Elements, just as you wanted," she hissed before she disappeared beneath the massive door to the lecture room. Colette let out a heavy sigh and shook her head hopelessly.

Yrith stopped the moment the door snapped shut behind her, trembling heavily in the cold. She should have at least heated the water, but the urge to simply splash herself with some cold water to clear her mind had been so strong that she had done it without stopping to think. Now she was soaked, and the chilling air only worked against her, turning the water on her into countless tiny shards of sparkling ice. She shook herself wildly and a shower of crystals sank down to the ground with soft, crackling sound.

She gave a pensive look to the door leading to Urag's library, thinking of the warm coziness of the place, but shook her head at the memory of their last encounter, choosing to proceed into the main area of the Hall of the Elements. To her displeasure, the one waiting there was none other than Singird Larkwing.

He sat there on one of the window sills, staring into a piece of paper while his left hand was resting on a pile of documents lying at his side, their edges lined perfectly together. He put the paper with the rest and aligned them with the window when she entered, raising his brow at her appearance.

"Miss Ravencroft," he greeted her in that cool, deep voice of his. "What in Oblivion have you been doing?"

She gave him a silent shrug, putting her hand near the fountain at the center, but no heat came out of the blue beam of light. Singird stood up and raised his hands in a precise gesture, heating the air and sending it towards Yrith who, despite herself, let out a relieved sigh. She quickly hid it behind a mask of indifference and propped herself against one of the inner pillars, staring at the ground. A crack on one of the floor tiles suddenly seemed infinitely interesting to her, as she did her best to deny her conjuration teacher a chance to speak to her. In spite of that, he did not seem to mind.

"Is that how you greet a teacher?" he asked, walking towards her in a slow, measured pace.

"That is how I greet a traitor," she hissed, turning her eyes away from his approaching shadow. He sighed.

"Those are rather harsh words. And please, fix those laces and frills on your dress, I can't stand to look at them. Why aren't you wearing your robes?"

Yrith groped about her waist and shoulders with a frown, straightening the creased parts perfunctorily. "Because I haven't seen them ever since I woke up in Master Marence's room yesterday," she grumbled. "Not that I care. They were too big for me anyway." She quickly made her way to a window, turning her back to him. A view of several islands opened before her, separated by entwining straits of dark, deep water. The sun, slowly rising over the horizon, was reflected in it in shape of quivering golden sparks dancing on its surface like a swarm of golden torchbugs. Soon, it would be time for the class to start.

"Is Cain coming to the class today?" Yrith asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes. We have no evidence against him. Yet."

"You won't find any," she snarled quietly, turning back to face her teacher. "He didn't do it."

"As far as I remember, you hated him. What made you change your mind?" The way Singird Larkwing sounded cool about the matter made Yrith grit her teeth with frustration. Nonetheless, she was now forced to think about his question. What was it indeed? Unconsciously, her finger slid along the edge of one of the glass tables in the window, scratching down a piece of frost.

"It's not about our relationship," she said at last. "There's simply no way he could have done it."

"Isn't that for us to decide?"

"Don't I have a word in it too?"

"You tend to be very naïve," he countered with a soft smile. Exactly the kind of smile Yrith hated the most. "Do not discard an option until you have a proof. The fact we don't have anything to prove he was guilty doesn't mean he is not. The fact _you_ don't have it doesn't change anything. We simply don't know. Give us a proof he _couldn't_ have done it and we will move to another target. Until then, he is our only clue. A _word_ is not enough."

"But it's _me_ who was targeted, not you!"

"Wrong again. We don't know if it was really you or if it was just a coincidence that you were the one that took the damage. Especially the case with the cliff falling down on you seems very suspicious."

"Wasn't that an accident?"

"I have a reason to believe it wasn't," he voiced, but as Yrith opened her mouth to argue, a group of her classmates entered the foyer, chattering clamorously amongst themselves. She turned her head after the sound and scowled when she heard her own name.

"And Yrith Ravencroft," a smooth Bosmeri tenor spoke, "how long do you think she's going to stay here?" They stopped upon stepping into the round area of the main hall, their eyes shifting between Yrith and their conjuration teacher. Everyone fell silent. Yrith clenched her fists, glaring at the group with utter disgust. Somebody let out a silent snort.

"All right, class," Singird spoke after what felt like an eternity, even though it could not have been more than just a minute. She remembered Septimus Signus's book and how the relativity of time was described there, smirking slightly at the irony. "Gather around, today we will be learning how to make your summons more powerful."

Everyone stepped into the inner circle of the hall, letting Singird stand on the highest of the steps in its middle, next to the central fountain. He was already tall enough to have a clear view of everyone's head, but standing literally at the top commanded respect. Only briefly did Yrith glance at the entrance as a few latecomers came rushing to the hall, among them both Leyna and Qassir whose robes seemed somewhat ragged, as though he had spent the night outside on a wild hunt. The last one to come was Cain, accompanied by Drevis Neloren who was knitting his brows sullenly. He nodded to the Nord, excusing himself shortly.

Yrith watched the fiery haired Dunmer approach, but averted her eyes immediately. She could only describe the look in his eyes as a death glare. There was nothing but hatred in them, spite so pure and dark it made her hairs stand on end, and it was all directed at her. She exhaled shakily and closed her eyes.

"Yrith!" a voice breathed beside her and she knew it belonged to a beautiful Altmeri blonde. "Are you all right?"

"Just fine," she replied hoarsely, barely managing to keep her shaky voice down.

"You don't look like…"

"And if you would excuse me, Miss Travi, I would like to continue with our lesson," Singird said firmly, clearing his throat. Everyone except Yrith, Qassir and Cain, who was clearly in no mood for jokes, laughed.

"Yes, Master Larkwing," Leyna uttered softly, pinning her eyes to the ground. "I am sorry." Yrith placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Good," the teacher nodded. "As I was saying, today we will concentrate on improving our summons. There are two ways of achieving that. You can improve their strength, or you can make them last longer. As the latter requires a lot of experience and magical prowess, we will first concentrate on making them strong. Can anyone tell me what it is that determines the strength of a summoned creature?"

There was a silence, a few inconspicuous glances thrown among the students.

"No one? Miss… Verus, was it?"

Tanya, the slight Altmeri half-breed, raised her head timidly, biting her lip. "I… don't know, Master Larkwing… the soul of the conjurer? How much magicka they use?"

"That can be a part of it, but no, not quite. Anyone else? Miss Ravencroft?"

Yrith glared at the Nord. Great, so now he would use her whenever no one else was able to answer his questions. She let out an almost unnoticeable hiss.

"It depends on how strong the link between the conjurer and the summon is," she answered colorlessly. "The strength of the link depends mostly on the conjurer's concentration and their ability to handle their magicka. Great magical capacity is not necessarily required."

"Very good," he praised, causing Yrith to scowl sourly. "Just as Miss Ravencroft said, it only depends on how well you can handle yourself. The key to that lies in your connection to Oblivion. When you stretch out your mind, your thoughts must be clear of anything except for the intention to summon a being from another plane. However, you may use the reason why you want to summon it as your drive. This, of course, gets easier with practice, as your mind adapts to the summoning process. You don't need a drive after having learnt how to fully concentrate on the summoned creature. Miss Ha'risha, step forward, please, and summon any creature of your choice. Pick one you're comfortable with, as you want to be able to concentrate on your link. Make the creature sense it, get attached to it, draw power from it. Then lure it here. Make it seem like it wants to come here on its own free will, but do not let go of its conscious. The more appealing you make the contract seem, the more powerful your summon will become."

"But…" Ha'risha hesitated, shifting on her feet, "what if I give it too much freedom and it gets out of hand?" Yrith tensed and clenched her fists, watching Singird with narrowed eyes in wait for the answer. For a moment, their gazes met, but it was the teacher this time who broke the contact first.

"It won't," he replied with a shake of his head. "Summoning an unbound creature is a lot more difficult than it seems. If you don't have absolute control over it, you probably won't be able to summon it at all." Yrith frowned. This was not the answer she had expected.

"Okay," the Khajiit girl nodded, stepping forward. Her classmates backed away, creating a wide circle. She raised her hands and a sphere of dark swirling magicka appeared in them, materializing as the blazing figure of a fire atronach a moment later. Yrith frowned, as this creature seemed incomplete, unstable when summoned to Nirn. Ha'risha was not comfortable with this one. Instead, she had clearly chosen a higher level creature to show off at the cost of its strength. Well, her problem, Yrith thought with a slight bit of satisfaction.

Singird sighed and summoned an atronach of his own, turning Ha'risha's summon into dust at once. She squealed and put a hand over her mouth, but earned herself nothing more than the teacher's stern look.

"I said one you're comfortable with. Try a familiar."

The Khajiit sighed in disappointment, summoning an ethereal wolf. It clashed with Singird's, howling and growling as they turned into a tangle of claws, teeth and hairs. Ha'risha's familiar lasted for almost a minute before finally being sent back to Oblivion.

"Good, just practice your summoning and try to master your mental control over the connection itself. Working with an atronach shouldn't be much of a problem once you do. Now all of you will try in turns. Try to concentrate on your link and make your summons as strong as possible."

The next one to conjure was Ha'risha's friend, a small Altmer with fair wavy hair. His flame atronach lasted about the same time as Ha'risha's familiar and Singird nodded in appreciation. "Good," he commented. "Your control over the creature is solid, it should get stronger every time you summon it anew."

A few other people followed before it was Cain's turn. The Dunmer walked into the circle and raised his hands, but as he started the conjuration, a spark sent by one of his classmates burned his elbow and an incomplete atronach appeared before him. He stared at it helplessly and waited for Singird's atronach to shatter the poor creature. The two subsequent tries ended in similar result and he was sent back to the crowd without a comment, his face expressionless, but under that mask was a hint of despair and loneliness. Yrith gritted her teeth.

"How dare he," she snarled quietly.

"What?" Leyna whispered, her eyes shifting between her and Cain.

"Singird Larkwing," Yrith spat. "How dare he let them do this to him?"

"Wasn't it the same with you before?"

"No. He only does it because he thinks Cain _did_ something. And he didn't."

"Yrith," her companion said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, "you don't know that. I don't know why you suddenly stick up for him, but what if he _did_ target you?"

"You don't know why?! Because unlike all of you, I _understand_ how he feels!" The words left her mouth before she could stop herself, louder than she had intended them to be, and a number of curious eyes turned in their general direction, with Leyna raising her hands in a placating gesture, palms facing inwards.

"Miss Ravencroft, we are in the middle of the class," Singird uttered in that quiet, threatening tone of his. She shot him an exasperated look. "Do not make me give you another detention. I believe you still have an unfinished one."

Yrith pursed her lips, but did not say a word.

"Better. Now Mister Tahlrah, if you please."

Qassir raised his head and nodded. Then he smiled at Yrith and called to her: "Hey Yrith, wanna make a bet?"

The Breton girl stared at him quizzically, thinking whether this was the first time the mysterious Redguard had called her by her name.

"A frost atronach. Beat me with it and I'll give you something precious to me. However, if you lose, you'll have to give me something of yours." He turned away and walked into the circle, summoning a large frost atronach, true to his word. Singird nodded and gave him a smile, causing Yrith to stare at him incredulously. Had she ever seen this man smile before? No matter, the only thing she wished for at the moment was to bash that smile out of his face.

Two frost atronachs charged against each other in a fierce combat. Their ice bodies, more physical than any other atronach Yrith had heard of, shook the ground and sent a deafening echo throughout the hall. The fight was a long one and Yrith frowned when it finally ended. Would she be able to conjure a creature this strong? Not to mention she had never conjured a frost atronach before.

She waved to Leyna who was next and watched her fire atronach engage in a solid fight before being turned to dust. Yrith was the last one to go, and so she did not wait for Singird to call her name, stepping inside of the circle with a determined expression which did not quite match her feelings. She knew she could not escape Qassir's challenge, as avoiding it would only mean more humiliation from her classmates and possibly from her teacher as well. She sighed, stretching out her hands and spreading her conscious, separating it from her own mind momentarily. It reached the planes of Oblivion and searched for a suitable target, luring it onto Nirn. She felt a sting on her foot as a classmate of hers, and she would bet on Ha'risha, sent a spark to distract her, but refused to turn her attention to it. After all, unlike Cain, she was used to this treatment. She concentrated on her desire to win and also crush Singird Larkwing.

A moment later, a massive figure of ice was standing before her, one arm shaped into a sharp fang. Her teacher's smile widened and she responded with a scowl. Now that she was standing in the circle, commanding a creature of her own, she felt a tug of uneasiness at the back of her head. Singird's atronach seemed bigger and scarier than it had when she had been watching from the crowd. There was no risk in this fight, and yet, her body tensed.

The two elementals clashed into each other with enormous force, and both Yrith and Singird had to step back to avoid being trampled to the ground. At first, it seemed their strength was even. Yrith's atronach managed to avoid several hits that would have crushed it while placing a few well-aimed blows itself, but its opponent used them to its advantage, using the strength of Yrith's summon against itself. It was as though her teacher's atronach was an intelligent being, something Yrith had thought entirely impossible. But maybe they share some of their conjurer's intelligence after enough practice, she thought to herself.

Yrith's atronach was thrown mercilessly to the ground, turning into a pile of sparkling ice as it crumbled down. She exhaled, staring at its remains with slight disappointment.

"Miss Ravencroft," Singird called to her as his hands produced a dark whirlwind which then circled the place and cleared all the remains, transporting them somewhere beyond the boundaries of Mundus. Yrith tilted her head to the side. "I am expecting to see you in the Expert Conjuration class."

She stared at him for a moment before turning away in silence only to witness Ha'risha standing before Cain with her arms crossed.

"Too bad your most hated character beat you today," she sneered, nodding in satisfaction as her friends grouped around her with supportive hums.

"Whatever," the Dunmer said. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

"Not so fast. Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, little murderer?"

Yrith felt hot blood rush into her face and dye her cheeks crimson red, an angry vein popping out on her forehead. She stomped towards the insufferably annoying Khajiit, fists clenched so tight that the knuckles on her fingers turned white, and eyes shooting daggers. She closed the distance between Ha'risha and herself, her face now inches from the Khajiit's, and spoke quietly, in voice cold as ice and sharp as a razor.

"Your performance today was worse than a troll's. You have absolutely no right to say anything, and unless you want to end up with an ice spike sticking out of your stomach, you'll shut that trap of yours right now. Last time I remember, Cain was better at destruction than you could ever be, so you better watch out."

Ha'risha's eyes widened and Yrith could only take a guess as to whether it was fear or disbelief. "You were the one he targeted! Are you really so dumb to stick up for him after everything he's done to you? Even Master Larkwing thinks he did it!"

Yrith shot Singird a look. The Nord was watching them with an unreadable expression, his face motionless as though it was carved in stone.

"Time for us to go, Mister Aldaryn," he uttered brusquely, walking slowly towards the entrance. "Miss Ravencroft, come to my room after your next class. I have some work for you."

Yrith's nails dug into her skin. How dare he.

She set out for the door, but Cain's glare in her direction made her stop. The Dunmer scowled, and then a single sentence escaped his lips.

"I hate hypocrites."

And then he was gone.

"Wha—"

"What a mean guy," Leyna snorted, patting her on the shoulder. "You should stop being so nice to him. He doesn't deserve it."

"I thought _you_ were his girlfriend!" Yrith pointed incredulously.

"Hey! Not girlfriend, just friend. And I _was_. Not anymore."

"Wasn't there a nice side to him? You must have had a reason for liking him."

"I…" Leyna stammered, suddenly caught off guard. "A… reason? W-well… he used to be popular…"

"Is that all?" Yrith's mind was screaming at her to stop chasing her only friend away. For some reason, her heart always got ahead of her brain.

"Listen, I… I don't understand it that well myself. It's just… oh, please, don't be angry with me…"

"I'm… I'm sorry…" Yrith sighed, shaking her head in retreat. "There's just too much on my mind right now."

"Hey, wanna ease up a little?" a merry voice invited, and she turned around to face Qassir with his usual good-natured, yet mysterious smile. "You owe me something."

"That wasn't fair."

"But you accepted and lost." He winked at her mischievously.

"Ah, fine," she raised her hands in defeat, shaking her head. "So, what do you want?"

"Mind if I take you somewhere a little more private?"

She cocked her eyebrows in question, half curious and half nervous, and then threw a glance at Leyna who waited by her side. The blonde Altmer shrugged.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Follow me," he beckoned to her as he began to walk. Leyna only smiled at her encouragingly, accompanying it with a wink which didn't quite ease up Yrith's nervousness.

Qassir led her up to the Arcanaeum, but instead of heading to the library itself, he continued climbing the steep stairs up to the terrace. Yrith sighed in relief when they arrived, as Urag clearly had not noticed them passing. Much to her discomfort, she was afraid to face him and was in no mood to argue with the orc. She did not even know what she would tell him.

They found themselves on a stone walkway circling the octagonal tower, the chill air blowing into their faces. It was warmer than inside the Hall of the Elements, as the sun was not hindered by a single cloud and sent rays of warm golden light upon the College complex. Qassir stepped on the tall wall connecting the Hall of the Elements to the other towers and encouraged Yrith to follow him to the top of the Hall of Countenance. There he leaned to the wall surrounding it and stretched out his hand like a travel guide, pointing to the land below. Yrith looked down and gasped.

Down there, under that immensely tall tower, was a narrow strait separating the College from the rest of Skyrim, and beyond it spread the city of Winterhold in all its glory, standing on a number of cliffs above the sea. When her eyes drifted even further, looming over the surrounding mountains and ancient trees was the statue of Azura, presenting to the skies a small sun in one hand and a moon in the other. The land was so serene, and even the crumbling remains of the old houses in the city seemed somewhat beautiful.

"That is…" Yrith stuttered, searching in her mind for the right word, but nothing seemed appropriate. She felt out of place, with the Redguard boy grinning at her in expectation, but he seemed to sense her hesitation as he just gave a shrug and seated himself on the ground with his back to the wall. Yrith joined him.

"It's not every day that we get to see something like this here in Winterhold," he said with a smile. "So? Feeling a bit better now?"

"Qassir, why are you doing this?" she asked, staring at the ground. She always thought the grey floor tiles in the College dark and unwelcoming, but at this moment they we light and warm.

"Because I want to?" he shrugged.

"What's your motive?"

"Hey, that sounded like an accusation," he laughed. "Why should I have a motive?"

"Because we've only just met, I don't know you and…"

"In other words, you don't trust me."

Another sigh, a little heavier than the ones before. "No, I don't."

"Considering you don't trust _anyone_ , it doesn't quite bother me though."

She shot him a look. "Why is it always so hard to talk to you?"

"I wonder," he said, his eyes gazing at the azure sky above their heads. "Say… that house on the remote side of the city, the low one with the crumbling roof… that's your house, right?"

She jerked her head abruptly, turning to face him. "How do you know?!"

"A lot of people around here know. Lady Faralda, for example."

"True… and? What about it?"

"I don't know. You just seem like your mind is in there most of the time."

"It's only been six months since my parents died. It's hard to forget them."

"Want to tell me more about it? You might feel better after letting it out."

"I never do," she shook her head.

"How many times have you tried?"

She laughed. Of course she would sound pathetic if she told him she had only done so once, and that was just because she had been forced to.

"You owe me a precious thing. What if this was what I asked for?"

"Then I'd have to break a promise."

"All right. A different question then. Do you like Cain?"

Yrith stared at him with her mouth wide open, utter disbelief in her face. _"What?!"_

Qassir laughed. "Just kidding. I like how you defend him though."

"You do?"

"It only shows how strong you are. You always do what you believe is right, no matter how hard it is, no matter what the consequences."

She frowned, hugging her knees, her eyes tracking a line between the tiles. "Trust me, I don't."

"And there you go again. Is it related to your parents?"

"Maybe."

"It is then." It wasn't a question, and the simplicity of that sentence irritated her for some reason.

"Why are you so interested in this?"

"Because I care. Have I ever done anything to prove otherwise?"

She shook her head.

"Then trust me. Please."

"I can't…"

"Should I make a blood contract with you?"

"A blood contract?"

"Yes. That I never betray you."

"You'd go that far?"

"If you wanted me to."

"No," she whispered. She hated it. She absolutely hated how this boy always got to her weak spot, and she hated even more that she felt the insuppressible urge to tell him, let it all out. If he had wanted to harm her, he would have done so long ago. There had been so many chances for him to do so. What was it that he wanted from her? And why did she feel so drawn to that smile of his?

"I killed them," she breathed at last.

"What?"

"I killed them. Summoned an atronach, it got out of hand and I killed them."

"But that's…" Qassir shook his head, placing a hand on her shoulder and clutching it, but then his movement stopped and he let out a heavy sigh. "You told Singird Larkwing, didn't you?"

She looked at him with shock in her face. "How did you know?"

"Because you two always seem to be exchanging silent signals, and I saw the look on your face when he told Ha'risha that an atronach can't disobey its conjurer. Also..." he gave her a meaningful look, "that guy seems to be always looking out for you."

"Singird Larkwing?" Yrith snorted, twisting her lips in a smirk. "Looking out for me? You've got to be kidding me. That man is as cold as the floes down there!" She waved in the direction of the Sea of Ghosts.

"Yrith," he said as he turned to fully face her, "can you promise me something?"

"Depends."

"Please."

"I still don't know."

Qassir sighed and bent backward, looking at the sky. "Do you want to stay alive?"

"W-what kind of question is that?!" Yrith squeaked out, staring at him.

"A concerned one. Do you?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then stick to Singird Larkwing and that orc librarian. Don't trust anyone else and, for the Mercy of Stendarr, do _not_ leave the College grounds!"

A salve of questions burst in Yrith's head and she could not decide which one to ask first. There was a brief silence before she chose the one that seemed most logical. "Why are all of you so concerned about me?"

"Because the murderer of your parents is still out there and I have a reason to believe they're looking for you."

"The... what? I just told you I did it!"

"But you didn't. Singird Larkwing was right, an atronach can't disobey its master. Unless you were _trying_ to kill your parents, which, knowing you, I don't think you were, someone else must have done it. Your atronach only provided a good opportunity for them, as it made _you_ look like the murderer."

"But... that's impossible..."

"It's not impossible. Was there anyone else except you and your parents that night they died?"

Yrith shifted nervously, recalling Singird Larkwing asking her the same question. "I really don't know. I... I thought I'd heard something from the kitchen but I didn't really look."

Qassir nodded silently, his mind elsewhere, obviously contemplating this newly acquired information. Yrith's frown deepened.

"Say," she posed quietly, "suppose there was someone else who killed my parents. But why would they need to kill me if the evidence spoke against me?"

"That I don't know. On top of that, you said it was six months ago, didn't you? I think there must be something that made them reconsider. Has there been any significant change in your life recently?"

"Plenty. Just look at all the things that happened after I was put on detention with Cain."

Qassir smiled in slight amusement. "I don't think that qualifies, but just as a precaution, you should be wary of him. And Leyna too."

"What? You're suspecting Leyna as well? This is really going too far!"

"Yrith..."

"No!" she cut him off, jumping on her feet and pointing a finger at him. "Just you wait. I'll show you. I'll prove their innocence!"

"And how exactly are you going to do that?"

"I... I'll think of something. I definitely will!"

The expression in Qassir's face was best described as conflicted. There was a part of him that wanted to laugh at Yrith's blind determination, but the other one was full of concern. In the end, the latter overshadowed the former.

"You need to be careful. Remember what I told you."

"I'll consider it."

"Yrith, please."

"How many times have you said that to me today?"

"Many. And you don't seem to care."

"Qassir," she addressed him suddenly, squatting down to face him.

"Hmm?"

"Who are you exactly?"

The Redguard gave her a soft smile and ruffled her hair, to which she reacted with a shake of her head, chasing his hand away. "Someone you can trust."

* * *

 _That thing with making conjured creatures stronger being easier than to make them last longer... I made it up. It fit my conception of magic better than what was originally in the game. Also, it's not entirely untrue, since they do get stronger with every level of conjuration you get._

 _Anyway, I've wanted to tell you this for quite some time now, but I always forgot. I think it was in chapter two when I accidentally featured Mirabelle Ervine in the story, although she's supposed to be dead since it takes place after the College of Winterhold questline. So, let's make an alternate universe where she didn't die defending the College. Not that it's important for this story anyway._

 _Another thing I forgot to mention in the previous chapter notes – there's a cipher in chapter 7 which didn't display properly the first time I posted it. Since FF-net interpreted it as a link, it deleted it, so I had to change its format, but I didn't notice it until about four hours after I published it. So please, those who read the chapter shortly after it was posted, look at the cipher again. It now displays properly so you can try to decipher it. As I already mentioned in the previous notes, the clues are there, you just need to figure out how they work (and it's a lot simpler than it looks, really). :)_

 _tirechanclas:_ _Better late than never, and I'm happy to have you back. :) And well... if this is the climax, then it's going to be a very long one. *actually feels tempted to make a kinky comment, but will not succumb!* No, it's not the climax yet. We're still a long way from there. And wrong, the Arch-Mage is not an elf. Your reasoning is logical, but that's not how I work. I guess you get one more try. Sorry about that. :D_

 _As always, thanks to dart0808 for the beta (even though he didn't edit anything in this chapter, so if you find a mistake, it's all his fault!). :)_

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	10. The Arch-Mage – Prelude

_There is no float spell in Skyrim, I made it up for the sake of convenience. Still, I believe every competent mage would be able to (_ _use the force to)_ _lift an object like this, right?_

* * *

 **Chapter 10: The Arch-Mage – Prelude**

Alteration with Master Tolfdir was as bad as ever. Despite being a Breton who usually have a strong affinity to Alteration, Yrith could not grasp the basics. And despite Qassir constantly offering her help, she stubbornly refused, her mind elsewhere. How could she even care about her class after such a conversation? She wasn't a murderer? Someone else had killed her parents? That was just too unbelievable. And why would they do it in the first place? What kind of reason could they have? And if she wasn't a murderer, why didn't anyone consider that her parents might really just have died due to a failed experiment? There were simply too many questions burdening her mind at the moment to concentrate on Master Tolfdir's class.

"Yrith?" A gentle nudge from the side snapped her out of her little world. She turned after its source, staring into Leyna's face.

"I'm sorry," she muttered absentmindedly, "what is it?"

The blonde Altmer nodded to Tolfdir who was now drawing a magical glowing line across the Hall of the Elements. "You've been named a team captain," she informed.

"Team captain?"

"Yeah, the other one is Nelarin," she pointed to the Bosmer boy of umber hair and dark-ish skin with an even darker tattoo curling along his left cheek whom Yrith knew by sight. He stood by Ha'risha who whispered something in his ear. Yrith raised a brow and shrugged.

"Where has your mind been, Urchin?" Qassir teased with a smile, making her purse her lips. "We're playing a game. We're divided into two teams, red and green – you're the green team's captain. You get a ball and try to shoot someone. Before you shoot, you have to charge it with magelight. Then you aim to hit someone. You can slow or paralyze the person in the process so they can't dodge the shot. However, paralysis is altered on this ground so they can move their hands and cast spells. To avoid being eliminated from the game, they can cast oakflesh or stoneflesh before the ball hits them. If they cast oakflesh, your team scores a point but they remain in the game. If they cast stoneflesh, you get no point for your shot. If they can't cast anything in time, the ball dyes them in the color of your team, green in your case, you get two points and they're out. The game ends when one team is completely eliminated. The team with more points wins. Oh, and you have to keep the ball floating with magic, because otherwise it will be too heavy to even move."

"But… I can't cast either of those spells! Not even float!" Yrith lamented, throwing up her arms. Qassir opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Tolfdir.

"So," the elder mage said, "are you ready to start? Miss Ravencroft, Mister Feiran, stand on these marks," two glowing dots appeared on each side of the hall, with the fountain of blue light standing halfway between them, "and on the count of three, get to the focal point. The one who touches it first gets to pick their first teammate."

Leyna patted Yrith on the shoulder as she unwillingly detached herself from the crowd, standing on one of the dots with her shoulders stooped and eyes piercing the ground until the dot turned the color of bright green. On the other side, Nelarin, the other team captain, did the same. She watched as he stepped on his dot which then flooded him with loud red glow.

"Starting the count now," Tolfdir announced. "One… two… three!"

Both of the captains darted from their spots, but as Yrith set out for the focal point, she felt a tug at her conscious which made her hesitate. It was over in a flash, but enough to allow her opponent get the better of her. The Bosmer touched the fountain which sent out a merry torrent of white sparks and was proclaimed victorious, gaining applause from most of the class, Ha'risha being the loudest of them. Yrith clenched her fists, recalling bitterly that the Khajiit girl excelled in illusion. She cussed inwardly, cursing her to Oblivion.

"Mister Feiran, your call then," Tolfdir waved a hand to him and Nelarin grinned sheepishly.

He hesitated a little before calling the first name. "Qassir!" he invited. The Redguard let out a sigh and joined him on the green side of the battlefield, staring into the ground. Quiet murmurs spread among the group of students waiting to be assigned to a team. Now it was Yrith's turn.

She frowned, judging the situation. With her on one team and Qassir on the other, it was almost certain they would lose. Of course, she could annoy Ha'risha by picking her into her own team, but that would probably only backfire, as Yrith would be the most upset one in the end. Now that it came to it, what choice did she have?

"Cain!" she called hesitantly, earning herself another death glare by the Dunmer. He joined her with a sour grimace in his face, turning away as soon as he took a spot on her side of the field.

"Don't give me that," she hissed at him. "Or would you prefer to be on Ha'risha's team along with Qassir?"

He did not respond, but his body, shifting its weight nervously from one leg to another and back, gave him away. She sighed and shook her head.

"Ha'risha!" exclaimed Nelarin on the other side of the fountain and the Khajiit joined him at once, grinning at Qassir. The Redguard seemed to pay her no mind, staring blindly into the blue beam separating the two teams. Ha'risha immediately engaged in a quiet conversation with her team captain, probably discussing their strategy.

"Leyna!" Yrith shouted, inviting her friend. The Altmer walked over the field in her typical elegant manner, her blonde hair flowing behind her as though it was floating, shimmering in the light.

"I almost thought you'd leave me out," she teased, shooting a reproachful look at Cain.

Yrith smirked good-naturedly. "Welcome to the team of losers," she said.

"Hey! Don't condemn us before the game even starts!" Leyna defended, putting up a mask of amused outrage as she nudged Yrith's shoulder. The Breton girl chuckled.

"Aernil!" the next name resounded through the hall and the smug fair-haired Altmer, Ha'risha's biggest fan and her right hand, hopped eagerly to the red team's side. He shot Yrith a sly sneer and she countered it with twisting her lips into a derisive grimace.

"Tanya!" Yrith called for the Altmeri Imperial who raised her head in surprise and pattered timidly to her side.

"I think I'm going to stay behind you," Yrith said, biting her lip as the red team picked another person, a gaunt Dunmeri girl with a tousled mop of dark brown hair and eyes that scanned their surroundings like a falcon preparing to swoop down, going by the name Ildreth.

"It's fine," Leyna encouraged, "we'll help."

"Who next? I don't even know those people," Yrith lamented and nodded to the remaining three classmates waiting at the side of the battlefield. There were two Altmer, a girl and a boy, and a Breton boy sizing her up with knit eyebrows. His nose wrinkled with distaste when he met her gaze and she turned away abruptly.

"Take Dorien," Leyna advised quietly.

"That's the Breton?" Yrith asked with raised brows.

"Yeah."

"Bad idea. It takes one look to see that he clearly despises me from the bottom of his heart."

Leyna shrugged. "They all do. But unlike the other two, he has some decent skill in alteration."

"Wha… well… thank you," Yrith replied sardonically, puckering her lips. "Dorien!" she shouted, and the glare from the Breton's side sent cold shivers down her spine. He approached her, pacing his step into a slow, tense tread, and stopped inches from her face.

"Don't think I'm going to help you, Tardolt," he breathed dangerously. "I'm not playing friends with you."

"Ta… _Tardolt_?" she repeated incredulously. "What…"

"Yeah, Tardolt. Also, Doltecile and Thunderdolt – thunderously annoying dolt. Enjoy your popularity." He turned away with a scoff, settling himself slightly aloof with his legs crossed. Leyna shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but Yrith only waved her hand in dismissal.

"Saelar!" Nelarin exclaimed and the Altmeri boy joined his team. The remaining Altmeri girl shrugged and walked to the green team's side. She glared at Leyna, crossing her arms over her chest.

Yrith leaned to her friend, glancing over at her new teammate. "Is it just me or does she hate you?" she asked her quietly. The newcomer let out a silent snort.

"I can hear you, you know," she uttered dryly. "And traitors deserve nothing but hate."

"I'm not a traitor," Leyna hissed at her. At her side, Tanya stepped back, pressing her hands over her ears. "Open your eyes, Jaeris."

"Yeah, I can see it very clearly, Leyna. You have no idea how Ha'risha feels right now."

"Guys," Yrith said, raising her hands shakily, "we should…"

"Can't all of you just shut up?" Cain's irritated growl interrupted the argument. "You're annoying."

"Hey! Don't you…"

"Teams, prepare to fight!" Tolfdir's voice cut through the air as the elderly wizard raised his hands and produced a sphere of dark matter that seemed to absorb all the light that touched its surface. "Captains, stand on your marks. Everyone else will stand at the back of your team's side. On my whistle, you go and try to seize the ball for your team. If a player is eliminated, their team gets the ball. The ball will move based on how well you handle your float and magelight spells. The field is enchanted so that only one person on each side can cast a protective spell at one time. Using spells from other schools of magic is prohibited. The rest you know. Stand ready!"

Yrith stood on the glowing dot, the paleness in her face underlined by the green light. She pressed her lips tightly together in anticipation.

"Hey, midget," Cain addressed her as he passed her. She turned after him, studying his frowning face. "Remember how you taught me conjuration? Then do this the same way. Expand your magical influence, just try to focus on this little space in our plane and grab the ball instead of an atronach."

Yrith's eyes widened. "Will that work?"

"No idea," he shrugged and walked away with the rest of her team. She took a deep breath and turned back to the fountain, the corner of her mouth twitching in disbelief.

The ball was now floating above the fountain, swallowing its blue light completely. She stared at it, her expression somewhere between astonished and fearful, before she noticed that the two sides were separated by a thin softly glowing screen of dust particles.

"Three! Two! One!" A whistle followed and before Yrith could even move from her spot, Nelarin snatched the ball and grinned savagely at her, passing it to Qassir. Both teams spread over the battlefield, covering most of its area. Qassir did not waste any time and shot a spark of bright light into the ball, sending it in Yrith's direction. The ball swished through the light screen and Yrith's eyes widened, but she was shoved aside by Leyna who quickly cast a spell. Her skin turned a pale shade of green before the protective magic was shattered by the ball. Leyna grabbed it and sent it to Cain.

"Are you all right, Yrith?" she called to her.

"Y-yeah," the Breton girl replied in a trembling voice, following the ball's trail. It was passed to Dorien who exhibited a sly smile, throwing the ball at Yrith with all his might. She gasped, grabbing the ball with her hands, but they sank under its tremendous weight, letting it slide down on the floor. She bit her lip. A roar of laughter came from the side of the red team and she gritted her teeth.

"Come on, Ravencroft, lift that ball!" they shouted, jeering at her desperate attempts. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jearis and Cain approaching her. Jearis reached out to grab it, but Cain held out his hand, stopping her halfway to it.

"What in Oblivion are you doing, ashface?" she snarled angrily.

"Lift that ball, Yrith," he uttered in a resolute manner. She stared at him.

"What?" she managed to produce.

"Are you daft? I said lift that godsdamned ball!"

"Green team, I give you ten seconds before the red team gains two points and the ball," Tolfdir announced sternly. Yrith winced.

"Do it!"

She raised her shaky hands, producing a swirling ball of magicka. Focusing on this plane was no different than focusing on Oblivion. It was, in fact, easier, although Cain had been wrong. She could not grab the ball by controlling it like an atronach, as it was not moving on its own. She recalled how she had heated the air in the destruction class and reached for her magicka, guiding it to envelop the ball. Suddenly, she felt it, and it responded to pressure on certain points on its surface by moving. Her expression brightened and she looked at Cain. His face revealed nothing of his thoughts, but he nodded at her approvingly. She smiled and passed the ball to Jearis.

"Stendarr's Mercy, what a drama," she rolled her eyes as she took the ball and ran with it, scanning the red team. She swiftly charged the ball and released it, but it missed Ha'risha by inches, hitting the pillar behind her.

Ildreth took possession of it, running across the field. She pretended to charge it, but stopped the spell at the last moment, sending the dark sphere to Nelarin who passed it to Qassir. The Redguard charged it and shot it forward with lightning speed, and Tanya who had become his target did not have a single moment to dodge it or cast a spell. The ball hit her and sent her to the ground, painting her body and attire bright red. She screamed, more in surprise than in pain, and left the field, he hands slumped to her sides.

"Two points to the red team! Miss Verus, you're out!" Tolfdir announced, producing a tiny red spark and sending it above the red side. A wave of cheers rose from the red team and a few members struck their hands.

The green team did not waste any time. Leyna quickly grabbed the ball and passed it to Yrith who in turn sent in Dorien's direction. The Breton boy was standing at a perfect spot for shooting, but instead of using the opportunity, he smashed it back to Yrith with a scowl.

"What are you doing?!" she yelled, taking a step back before she took control of the magical sphere.

"Whatever comes to my mind," he said with a shrug.

"Don't you want to win?!"

"With you? Against _that_?" he snorted as he pointed to Qassir. "Why bother?"

"Oh really?" Yrith hissed. She passed the ball back to Cain who shot at Nelarin. The Bosmer boy, too slow to dodge, quickly cast a spell to protect himself. It shattered on impact and Nelarin grabbed the ball, passing it to Aernil.

"A point to the green team!" Tolfdir called and Yrith's lips curled into a smile. "Stop! Team captains, on your marks!"

Yrith jumped to the green mark, hypnotizing the ball which was sent to the fountain.

"Ready! Three! Two! One!" Another whistle announced the start of new round. This time, it was Yrith who managed to get to the ball first, but her team did not have it for long, as an unsuccessful shot sent it amidst the red team. It was passed to Qassir who put up his mysterious smile and once again he charged the ball with breathtaking speed, throwing it to the green side. At first, it seemed as though it would not hit anyone, but then it suddenly changed its course, mercilessly smashing Leyna. The Altmeri girl gasped as her body turned bright red.

"Two points to the red team! Miss Travi, you're out!"

Yrith frowned, glancing at Qassir. They were clearly using him to do all the work, but how was she supposed to take him out? No, how was _her team_ supposed to take him out?

After a few passes, the ball went into Cain's hands. The Dunmer circled the green side, occasionally throwing it to Jearis who sent it back. The two of them seemed perfectly synchronized, and Yrith watched as the red team's gazes shifted between them, confused and tense with anticipation. She nodded in appreciation. Then, Cain suddenly slid along the dividing line between the red and the green side, charging and shooting.

It was a perfect shot aimed at Qassir. The Redguard smirked and drifted aside and the ball hit the surprised Ha'risha who stood behind him, unable to prepare. She threw both Cain and Qassir a reproachful look and left the field with a snort. Yrith stared at the Redguard incredulously.

"Two points for the green team! Miss Ha'risha, you're out!"

Now it was red team's turn. Yrith ran around, carefully watching the ball. The members of the red team passed it quite chaotically, sending it to Qassir several times which always made all of the remaining green team tense up. Nelarin, Aernil, Qassir, Ildreth, Qassir, Nelarin, Saelar, Aernil, Qassir… the chain seemed to be endless, which, luckily, gave Yrith a lot of time to think.

"Cain," she called to the Dunmer, "how do you cast magelight and stoneflesh?"

"You're asking me _now_?!" the Dunmer retorted wryly.

"Better late than never!"

"Give it up, Dolt!" Dorien yelled derisively. "You don't have a chance!"

"Listen now…!"

The ball came flying in her direction. She gasped but barely managed to avoid getting hit. The dark sphere continued to Dorien who was quickly pulled away by Jearis.

"What's your problem?!" Cain bellowed at the Breton boy, his forehead wrinkled with anger.

"Her!" Dorien snarled as he pointed to Yrith. "Oh, and you too," he added with a sneer.

"Damn you!" Cain returned. "Thank you, Jearis."

"Bah. Not like I care, really," she snorted as she passed the ball to Cain. "I just hate drama."

"Guys, can you stop it?" Yrith growled helplessly, accepting the ball from Cain. "We need to…"

"Seriously, Ravencroft," Dorien said with a shake of his head, "you should learn your place."

"For the love of the Daedra!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "Who's the one who's the one who should learn their place here?! We're a team, dammit!"

"And?"

"Are you giving up just because you're teamed up with me? What a lame excuse! Leyna said you had some decent alteration skill, but I guess you're just a coward ready to give up at first sight of trouble! Can't even accept a bit of challenge. Weakling! Lame-o! Trollheaded piece of daedroth!" She pushed the ball to him with all her might, making him wince as he caught it.

"Fine," he said quietly. "Out of my way."

Jearis grabbed his shoulder unexpectedly, earning herself another of his glares.

"I said out of my way! That goes for you too, Findel."

"Seriously, so overdramatic," she drawled and shook her head. "There's one thing she was right about."

"What?"

"We're a team."

Dorien snorted. "Whatever." He passed the ball to Cain.

The Dunmer ran, following the edge of the green side, and everyone else fanned out to the field.

"Midget!" he called to Yrith. "Remember how you pulled the pin bones out of that fish?"

"What?" she asked quizzically.

"Do it the same way. Pull the magicka out of your soul real fast. Make it clash with the air, burn on the impact and light itself. You get candlelight. Combine it with the float spell. You get magelight."

"What, Cain, are you serious? That was the worst explanation I've ever heard," Dorien shouted, lips twisting in contempt.

"Really?" Yrith widened her eyes and joined the Dunmer. Cain passed her the ball. She returned it and then caught it again as he sent it back. They were running like that for a while, then Jearis joined and it was the three of them, swirling around the green side of the field. The red team spread along the dividing line, members switching places and responding to the movement on the other side, and the tension slowly rose. Yrith liked it, as she noticed that the movements of her opponents were getting slower and more uncertain each minute. Then, suddenly, she did as Cain had instructed.

Releasing a sharp bolt of magicka, she made it spark and release its inner energy in form of a bright white glow. She sent it into the ball and shot it forward, guiding it to the red side. She gasped. The attached magelight was still linked to her and therefore she could feel the ball and maneuver it freely. It was an amazing feeling. So this is how Qassir had changed its course. But she had to be patient. It seemed like not everyone was capable, or perhaps quick enough to do it, and she welcomed the moment of surprise on her side. The ball hit the surprised Aernil, but he managed to protect himself in the last second, denying Yrith the chance to score a point. Still, new awareness overtook the red team and the members were now forced to regard Yrith with certain amount of respect.

"Holy Sheogorath, she really did it!" Dorien yelled in astonishment. "After _that_ explanation from Cain!"

The ball was now on the red side, shifting between its occupants in tremendous speed. Yrith pondered her possibilities as she watched it fly across the field, and a part of her attention was constantly focused on Qassir. He was dangerous, but not invincible, and he had this lone wolf trait that kept him from decent team play. They would have to be quick.

Qassir shot and targeted Dorien, but this time it was Jearis who shielded him with her body, pale green aura emanating from her as the hard shell of stoneflesh protected her. She grabbed the ball and passed it to Yrith. The Breton turned to Cain, handing it to him, and mouthed the words "I need to speak with you."

He raised a brow. "What?" he asked, his voice louder than she would have liked it to be.

"We need to be fast and synchronized," she whispered to him. "Create a pattern where we can anticipate what the others do and react to it, easy for us to follow, but too hard for them to see through. Can you tell others?"

"Right," he nodded and passed her the ball. She immediately shot it to the other side to prevent suspicion and missed Ildreth. The word spread among the members over the course of the next few passes and shots. Yrith knew that the other team is doing exactly the same, trying to come up with a strategy, but it seemed they still relied mostly on Qassir. And nobody realized the possibility to maneuver the ball. After a while, Jearis joined Yrith on her run along the green side's boundary, whispering to her.

"We always go in a star pattern. The center will be the one who catches the ball. It goes from them to another person, then back to them, then a second person, back, third person, and again. The order is always the same – you, Cain, Dorien, me, and whoever gets the center is naturally skipped. Now listen carefully. The shooter will be the one closest to Qassir at the time the center catches the ball. They shoot at the closest target after several turns. Their number will be determined by the person closest to you. Nelarin is one, Qassir two, Aernil three, Ildreth four, Saelar five. Think you can remember it?"

"It's the order they were picked in!"

"Exactly."

"Forwarding," Yrith nodded.

The word was spread before the ball was returned to the green team again, but an abrupt shot from Qassir took Jearis down.

"Two points for the red team! Miss Finoran, you're out!"

Yrith watched the Altmer in shock, but she only shrugged and joined Tanya and Leyna, scowling at the latter.

"Now what do we do?" Cain lamented.

"Still follow the plan!" Yrith commanded, taking the ball and passing it to him promptly. She was the shooter now and she planned to do it properly. Cain nodded and took a few quick steps before sending the ball back to her. From her it went to Dorien, then back to her again. She did not wait a single second before charging it and shooting it at Ildreth. The Dunmer widened her eyes in surprise, colliding with the dark sphere without a chance to react.

"Two points for the green team! Miss Galenni, you're out!"

"Yes!" Yrith squealed with joy, smacking Cain's hand and dancing across the field. Then she turned to Qassir, running around. "Hey, Qassir!" she called to him.

The Redguard raised his head in surprise, almost missing the ball that was tossed to him

"Yes?" he called back, head tilted to the side.

"If we win, will you answer my question in return?"

He stared at her for a moment before bursting out with laughter. "Is that a challenge, little urchin?"

Yrith slid past Cain and smiled at him. "Yes."

"Then I can finally take this seriously?"

"You mean you weren't serious before?" she groaned.

He brushed it off with a laugh. "You're on!"

The game went on, and the ball was now moving so fast that it turned into a mere smudge in the air. The red team adapted quickly, and so it took three shots to finally take down another member, Aernil. Nelarin followed him shortly and now only two members of the red team remained, Qassir and Saelar. For the first time, the green team had the lead and it made Yrith grin, reveling in the rare feeling of triumph. Qassir shot her one of his mysterious smiles, as though the situation did not pose a reason to be concerned. She looked at him with question in her eyes, but the reason came sooner than she had expected.

The ball was passed to him by the hand of Saelar and he quickly shot it at Dorien, maneuvering it to change its course on the way. It now aimed at the startled Cain who prepared himself to dodge it, but suddenly he was unable to move.

"Wha—" he began, but the ball hit him before he could finish the sentence.

"Two points for the red team! Mister Aldaryn, you're out!"

"No!" Yrith yelled, watching Cain in shock.

"Midget!" he called to her.

"Cain..."

"Remember how you skinned the fish?"

"What now?! Don't joke around when you're..."

"You can cast stoneflesh by directing the magicka as though you wanted to do the opposite."

"But..."

"Stoneflesh is nothing but a stronger version of oakflesh! You can do it!"

With that, he left the field and joined his fallen teammates. Yrith looked at Qassir and clenched her fists. Not that she had anything against him, but this time, she was determined to finally defeat him. But now it was just her and Dorien, and even though she had, with a big help from her teammates, convinced him to cooperate, he still regarded her with a sour smirk on his face. His next shot missed completely and now they were waiting for the red team to strike. And they did. The next shot made both of the green team players gasp in surprise. It came from Saelar.

Dorien was now painted bright red, suddenly looking extremely annoyed. "Ah, this is so frustrating!" he growled. "You, Dolt! Just... don't let him win!" he pointed at Qassir.

"Stop calling me that!" she retorted, ignoring his attempt to encourage her. Then she bit her lip. Now she was the only one left, with Qassir and Saelar teaming up against her. The Redguard winked at her with an innocent smile. She responded with a glare and he laughed. She shot the ball.

It missed and was returned to her swiftly, but she promptly grabbed it and shot it again. Speed was her ally, and if she was to win, she needed to be as ferocious as she could. Her face turned into a savage grin, her cheeks crimson red and her eyes wide with excitement. One shot, two shots, three... and then she finally lost patience. She charged the ball as soon as her fingers touched its surface and shot it at blinding speed. She changed its course when it swished through the dividing wall, aiming for Qassir. But the Redguard darted away from where he had been standing just a moment ago, past the confused Saelar who lost his balance as his shoulder hit Qassir's. The next moment, he was dyed bright green.

"Two points for the green team! Mister Tirias, you're out!"

Yrith ran along the boundary, panting and tired, and she could feel the pain returning to her right leg, but she refused to give up, containing a painful scowl. She gazed at Qassir, studying his every movement. Then, Ha'risha's voice rose from the group of students standing outside of the field.

"Go, Qassir, smash her like a bug!"

There was a short silence, but then the green team answered. "Go, Yrith, you can do it!" It was Leyna.

"Qassir!" Ha'risha cheered, soon joined by others. "Qassir, Qassir, Qassir!"

Yrith's eyes widened as the green team chanted her own name in response, and she put up a silly smile, a little uncertain as to how she should react. Then, her attention returned to Qassir and both antagonists started running, circling the field while watching each other intensely. Qassir was holding the ball with both hands, throwing it up occasionally just so he could catch it again. Yrith held her breath in anticipation. And then the shot came and she couldn't move.

She knew it would come. As ready as she could be, she made herself remember what Cain had told her, word by word. _"Remember how you skinned the fish? You can cast stoneflesh by directing the magicka as though you wanted to do the opposite."_ What a pathetic explanation, Yrith thought. Exactly the one she and only she would understand.

She called upon her magicka, this time simply spreading it over her body and hardening it at her will. By the time the ball reached her, her second skin was covered with the hoarse texture of wood. It shattered on impact with the dark sphere. Yrith sighed.

"One point for the red team!" Tolfdir announced. Twice more she fails to finish the spell and chances of her winning the battle will be close to none. Still, she managed to do it which was quite a success.

She took the ball and ran again, sliding across the green side, and there was their mindgame again, Yrith hypnotizing Qassir with her eyes. Then her foot slipped and she let go, falling on her knees. The group standing by the green side gasped and she could hear Qassir's shoes screech against the floor as he stopped his movement abruptly. She stayed on the ground, waiting for the ball to fall, clutching the dark cold stone with her fingers. Then she suddenly shot, charging the ball as she released it without standing up. Qassir widened his eyes in surprise, unable to react as he was standing just past the dividing line. The ball hit him and sent him to the ground, dying him green. The green team burst in applause.

"Two points to the green team!" Tolfdir called in a clear voice as the boundaries of the battlefield dissipated into thin air and the ball was absorbed by the blue fountain. "The green team wins with the total of thirteen points! Congratulations!"

Suddenly, Yrith was surrounded by her team, now back to their natural colors, and everyone was laughing and patting her on the shoulder.

"We did it!" Leyna squealed in joy, hugging her fiercely. " _You_ did it!"

"I still don't get how you could understand that guy's explanations," Dorien shook his head and pointed a finger at Cain, "but I guess that's Thunderdolt for you."

Yrith laughed. "Thank you, _all_ of you!" she squealed, failing to contain the bright smile on her lips. "You too, Dorien. And you, Jearis."

The two addressed classmates both snorted, the former slightly louder than the latter.

"Well, I guess you're not so bad after all," Jearis commented with a theatrically indifferent shrug.

"Hey, don't praise her for being able to do the basics!" Cain exclaimed.

"Thank you too, Cain," Yrith nodded at him. The Dunmer's response was nothing more than an unreadable grimace.

"Well well," a voice came from afar and she watched as her Redguard classmate stepped closer, measuring her with his deep blue eyes. "That wasn't very nice of you."

"I…" Yrith started, but could not decide what she wanted to say to him.

"Were you so desperate to get to know me?" he asked and his lips widened in a smile.

She scratched her head and gave him the most innocent look she could produce. He laughed and opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by Lady Faralda who came rushing to the hall, beads of sweat sparkling on her forehead before she wiped them with her sleeve.

"Master Tolfdir," she called breathlessly, "everyone! Gather in the courtyard, we need to speak with all of you immediately!" Then she promptly ran off again.

Murmurs rose from the crowd as everyone turned to the entrance door. Qassir's face wrinkled with a frown, his eyes clouded with a distant look as though his mind was somewhere else, someplace where Yrith could not reach him. Leyna turned to the Breton girl with a serious expression.

"She looked quite agitated," the Altmer remarked quietly.

Yrith shrugged. She cursed her classmates for being too slow, for all she wanted to do was rush out and find out what was happening as soon as possible. In spite of the long battle she had just experienced, she suddenly did not feel tired at all. Instead, her mind threatened to explode.

The procession dragged like an army of mudcrabs, but at last, Yrith and her friend were let outside and the Breton drew in the fresh air and quickly detached from the rest. Leyna joined her and soon they saw a number of people surrounding the statue of Arch-Mage Shalidor, his hands spread wide and his robes fluttering in the non-existent breeze. There were teachers, scholars and apprentice mages, and at the feet of the statue, propped against its rather modest pedestal, stood a tall Argonian woman dressed in the rich set of Arch-Mage robes, their top poncho-shaped layer with its tousled fur lining demanding proper respect.

The woman herself was quite curious. Her head was proudly exhibited in the blue light of the fountain before her while the hood of her robes hung from her back. She was quite thin, skeletal almost, with nothing but two proud horns in place of her ears, looking almost like an emerald-skinned dragon. From her left horn hung a set of brightly colored feathers which reached to her neck, coiled with a number of golden chains. Her eyes were something between pale green and golden, narrow, wild and hungry, as though they belonged to a beast which was constantly forced to choose between hunting and becoming prey to another. At a closer look, many scars lined along her face and neck and wrinkled her skin. Her expression, however, was a gentle one, probably the calmest face present. She nodded to the students and beckoned to the center of the courtyard. They gathered there, waiting. Tolfdir stopped at the Arch-Mage's side and whispered something into her ear hastily, but she returned it with a simple shrug and a dreamy smile. The Nord elder shook his head and knit his brows.

When Drevis Neloren and Singird Larkwing came rushing side by side as the last of the teachers, the latter quickly wiping the snow from the bottom part of his robes as soon as he arrived, Mirabelle Ervine, the slight Breton Master Wizard who always had her hands too full of paperwork to be able to wander outside, clapped her hands and demanded silence.

"Wait," Phinis Gestor spoke, "aren't we missing someone?"

"Urag gro-Shub won't leave his books," Singird Larkwing replied promptly with a soft scoff and blew a snowflake off of his sleeve. "Leave him be. Whatever this is, we can tell him afterwards. It's not like the librarian is going to run away."

"Good point," Phinis nodded. "So? What is it?"

"I guess this is where I deliver my grand speech," the Arch-Mage spoke with a sigh. Her voice was soft, too soft for an Argonian, as not even an Altmer would be ashamed of singing in such a beautiful clear alto. "Well then, simply said…" she hesitated, searching for the right words, "the College has been… compromised. There was… a murder in the city of Winterhold, and it is believed that the murderer is someone from the College. The body was found beneath the bridge to the main gate, showing clear signs of being torn apart with magic. The eyeballs were deformed, as though someone had been controlling the victim with illusion spells. Uh… yes, I think that is all. Can I go now?" Every single word, was pronounced in a leisurely, casual tone, as though the Arch-Mage was simply explaining how to tie a knot over a cup of tea.

"Arch-Mage!" Tolfdir shouted in exasperation. "Is… is this a joke to you?"

"Joke?" she asked, head tilted to the side. Then she smiled. "No, not really. Why would you think so?"

"Why…"

"It's all right, Tolfdir," Mirabelle patted the Nord on his shoulder. "Arch-Mage, we need instructions on what to do."

"Isn't that what you're here for?" the Argonian asked with a shrug.

"I'm only here to see to their completion," Mirabelle countered neutrally.

"Ah, I see." There was absolutely no pretense in the Arch-Mage's face or words. Yrith stared at her, fascinated by the level of… innocence, if she could call it so, that the head of the College displayed. "Then… yes, I think it would be appropriate for all of you to not leave the College until the issue is resolved. And… oh, someone should resolve it."

"Arch-Mage," Singird Larkwing whispered in that dark, threatening tone of his, his fists clenched as he was clearly fighting the urge to snap, "if we don't leave the College, we might not find the culprit."

"But it was someone from the College…"

"It is _believed_ so."

"What about Cain?" a voice from the crowd called and Yrith turned to see Ha'risha standing with her arms crossed over her chest. "He's targeted Yrith before."

"He has not!" Yrith snarled, eyes narrowing in a furious glare.

"Silence!" Singird commanded. "Arch-Mage?"

"Well then," the Argonian said as she turned towards the entrance to the Hall of the Elements, "I believe this College should have enough competent mages to deal with a petty matter like this. If you'll excuse me." She waved her hand to the teachers and literally disappeared behind the massive studded door. Yrith blinked.

"What was that?!" she asked Leyna incredulously. Her companion only shook her head.

* * *

 _I promise I will never promise my readers anything ever again. Ever. Duh.  
Well, the Arch-Mage is there. She took about a tenth of the chapter. I am very ashamed of myself. I don't know how I do it but my chapters just stretch all by themselves. It's their fault! You have to believe me!_

 _Ahem… well, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Nothing much to say about it except I enjoyed writing it quite a lot and sorry for the delay. I hope you won't think that I'm making Yrith too OP – she's not going to have it so easy with the more advanced spells. But I do tend to make both spells and skills in my fanfics a little flashier for everyone, even the villains, because it's boring when you have to stick to the earthbound spells like magelight or fear that is useless when you're like level 50+. Though even if I create a new spell, I try to keep it lore-friendly. You know. :)_

 _tirechanclas:_ _Again, thank you for your kind and motivating words! Well, you see, this is not how I think at all. Dart was right about this one, I am a hardcore equalist (actually, the dictionary tells me this word doesn't exist… well, it does now :D), so if I haven't introduced an Argonian so far, it means I am definitely going to introduce one sooner or later. And I think an Argonian perfectly fits the role. You'll see in the next chapter which, hopefully, will be released sooner than this one._

 _As always, thanks a lot to_ _dart0808_ _for beta reading my chapter even when he doesn't feel so well. Wishes for him to get better soon._

 _And that's all, folks! Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	11. Right under Your Nose

_Previously on Clouds of the Past…_

 _Yrith is a young girl who lost her parents and lives at the College of Winterhold as a foster child of Faralda who teaches destruction. But she has a secret. She is forced to join a newly established class of young students from rich families but gets bullied for lack of talent and being antisocial. However, Singird Larkwing, her new conjuration teacher soon discovers that she is a far better conjurer than she makes herself out to be. Reason? She believes she killed her parents by conjuring a flame atronach that went berserk._

 _But her opinion starts to change when she discovers several things. One, atronachs don't go berserk for no reason. Two, someone has been desperately trying to kill her lately. Three, there was a strange cipher in her parents' house and it appears to have been left there by them._

 _While she is trying to discover the secret of her parents' death, she also steals a book from the local library to learn how to travel in time and bring them back. At the same time, Singird has his own plans for her, figuring that she could help him with a summoning ritual. And meanwhile, a set of murders makes the people of Skyrim believe that there's a mage murderer and the College is forced to closed its gates._

 _Despite that, things start to look brighter on Yrith's side. She has overcome her fear and started using magic. She might even make friends. But she still has a long way to go before all is clear…_

 _And that's what you missed on Clouds of the Past!_

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Right under Your Nose**

The great gate of the College of Winterhold was shut tight and imbued with protective magic, flickering and crackling silently against the cold wind that sang its wailing tune. Every now and then, a teacher or one of the older students crossed the courtyard, keeping watch for possible perils. Why someone would attack the college when everything seemed to happen outside its boundaries, no one understood, but supposedly, it helped keep the people from the outside at peace when they knew the college did _something_ for _someone's_ good.

Yrith watched the people come and go. It was unusually lively between the buildings today, groups of students and teachers chatting quietly and exchanging opinions on current events. Most of the eyes turned at least once up to the tower where the Arch-Mage had her quarters. Yrith was intrigued. The Argonian had certainly struck a chord of curiosity. There was just no way on Nirn she could have been serious. After all, people trusted her enough to leave their children in her care. Rich people, no less. That meant something, right?

An image of a fiery-haired Dunmer flicked before her eyes, fuming with rage, face twisted in a snarl.

 _You think I just packed my things one day and came here, decided to become a mage? I just hate people like you who make themselves stand out and act like they're something special. At least I do my best._

Or maybe not, she thought to herself. Maybe her classmates had been sent here so they would not get in the way. Maybe they had been… disposed of. She remembered her parents and a sharp sting pierced her heart. They would never have done such a thing to her. And now, because of her, they were gone.

She shook her head as though she was trying to chase away an obnoxious fly. A gust of cold air bit her cheeks. She needed to head elsewhere. Her eyes turned to the looming silhouette of the Hall of Countenance and scanned its colorful mosaic windows. She set out for it in a slow, steady pace.

Inside, Drevis Neloren was working on the bright blue focal point again, occasionally stroking his white stubble with his left hand. He was so focused on his work that he ignored Yrith's greeting, mumbling something to himself instead. She caught the words "old magic" and "source fountain" before taking off to the upper levels.

On the third floor, Singird Larkwing was waiting for her with the door to his office wide open, head buried in a thick book. She studied him before announcing herself. She often liked to peek at people engulfed in a book. They had a tendency to express a plethora of emotions they did not normally show. She frowned. This man's face revealed nothing at all.

"Ahem."

The Nord raised his head and beckoned for her to take a seat. She did and he promptly closed the door behind her.

"So," he began as he sifted through a pile of books on his table. Yrith watched his hand, or, rather, its ever changing contents, and inspected the tiny details on their sundry covers. There were definitely more books around than the last time she had been here. And they were all cautiously organized and lined up according to various parameters including their author, title, size, and color. How the man had managed to match all of them was beyond Yrith's comprehension, but she had a hunch that it was no more than a mere instinct for him. "You have decided to come after all."

He broke into a soft smile.

"Like you gave me a choice," she would have liked to utter. She allowed a corner of her mouth to twitch, but gave no other reaction.

"Don't look at me like that. You'll be better off than Mr. Aldaryn."

"Why didn't you let us work in the kitchen together?" she asked colorlessly.

"I thought you didn't want to work with him."

"Exactly. So why would you let it happen?"

For a very brief moment, Yrith could swear she saw a trace of uneasiness in his face. But it had passed so quickly that in the next moment, she could not be sure what exactly she had seen there. He gave a long, theatrical sigh, one that she remembered from her parents when they were displeased with her.

"Did I ever tell you that you lack in manners?"

"Yeah, you say it about twice or thrice every day." She shrugged nonchalantly.

The teacher's face was carved in stone.

"Now then. Let me explain to you what you will be doing here. I prepared…" his speech was interrupted by a grunt as he lifted a large number of tomes and moved them toward Yrith's seat, "some books which you will search through. You will take notes on whatever useful piece of information you will find."

"So, basically it's the typical writing punishment? How… classic."

"No," he replied with an admonishing frown. "It's research and it is quite important. Your job is to go through all these books and find me any mention of how a soul can connect to the other planes of existence. Also include notes on death, interplanear transitions, or any kind of magic or rituals that can bring a soul across two or more planes."

"But…" Yrith gave him a contemplative look despite herself. "Why would you need to do that? They move between planes by themselves already."

"To bring, or attract, a specific soul. Now—"

"So you're," asked the girl, eyes wide with surprise and curiosity, "trying to actually summon a dead person? Not just the body but… the whole person? Their… mind?"

Singird Larkwing hesitated. He furrowed his brows and let out a heavy sigh.

"That was… faster than I anticipated. Indeed, that is what I ultimately aim for."

She jumped on her feet and inadvertently slammed her hands on the table. He jerked his head and gave her a scolding stare. "Will I be able to—"

"Conjure your parents? No."

"Do you really have to shoot me down like that? Why not? If you can do that…"

"I'm not even certain that I can," he threw up his hands. "Listen. What I am trying to do is call a deceased person to have a short conversation, gain a piece of information and let them go. What you want to achieve is an entirely different thing. Yrith Ravencroft, no matter what you do and how much power you invest, you cannot bring the dead back to life. Ever. There are things in this world that are irreversible. Stop thinking in the past. Your parents are gone."

The last word fell with a bang like a hammer on an anvil. There was a sudden wave of emotion that overcame her like an avalanche. She knew that. He didn't have to tell her. And yet… she sat down without a word and took a book, opening it with trembling fingers. Her gaze avoided his general direction and focused on the words which became smudged as a couple of tears slid down her cheeks.

Why, she thought angrily and a fist clenched under the table, why do I always have to cry in front of _him_?

And the more she tried to suppress the tears, the more the damnable salty liquid welled up in her eyes and flooded her face.

She sniffed and wiped it with a sleeve.

"You certainly cry a lot," he remarked as he sank into an armchair with one of his books. His free hand instinctively found the crumpled rim of his robes and straightened it.

"Do you… really have to say it?"

"And what do you want me to do? Sing you a lullaby?"

"Sure, go ahead." She snorted.

"Go ask the Redguard," he said with a quiet chuckle. "I've no doubt he'll be eager to do you that favor."

"Right," she scowled.

"Well, at least you're not crying anymore." The Nord leaned comfortably against the backrest and raised the book to his eye level. Yrith blinked and glanced at the text before her. He was right. Her vision cleared. She grabbed the book and buried her face in it, her pupils sliding over one line after another. It was no basic conjuration book. Singird Larkwing had obviously paid a great deal of effort to choose the most advanced literature he could find. It was by no means a dull read. A thought occurred to her. Perhaps he was desperately trying to motivate her. If so…

She sighed. He was quite successful. She learned that she could transform her soul energy into matter and conjure almost anything she could imagine as long as her soul could take it. She learned that there is an infinite number of ways to connect to a different plane and call upon its creatures. She learned that every person is inclined to certain element and using it for their summons makes their conjured creatures and objects stronger. She wanted to try everything. Every now and then, her hands restlessly rose and sank again in a poorly hidden attempt to _do_ something.

Only after a long while of captivated reading did she remember that she was supposed to take notes and quickly scribbled down everything she could recall. There was just one slight problem. None of the texts she browsed seemed to even remotely mention the possibility to manipulate a soul. After scanning the umpteenth page, she let out a weary sigh.

"Aren't you bit too young to be sighing like this?" inquired her teacher with raised eyebrows.

"There's nothing here," she muttered with a frown.

He smiled. _Again._

"Ever done a research before?"

"No?"

"Well, let me show you how this works. A research is… like a cipher. You know there's a message but you need the key. Somewhere amidst the innumerous words and sentences lie a few that lead to the solution. But you just need to filter all the possibilities, extract the right words, then give it a long thought and put them together over and over again until you find the correct combination. And even then, you might not see the solution immediately. It may take many years to do all that, even if in the end you realize that the answer has been lying right under your nose the whole time."

"Years? But I…"

"You'll only be helping me for one month, but it will still give me a chance to dig a little deeper. If, by the time your detention is over, you don't decide to stick with the project. In which case I will have this here seat reserved for you."

He gave her a mysterious, piercing look. Shivers ran down her spine and she averted her eyes.

"I… well… I'm still just learning the basics, so…"

She earned herself a frown and decided to pin her eyes to the book before her. A complicated diagram with various marks, symbols and captions covered the open double page.

"There's a diagram here and it's for a ritual. I didn't know conjuration used rituals," she said, grasping the opportunity to change the topic.

"Oh it does. You don't conduct those for standard summoning, of course, but if you want an unbound creature or, let's say, a creature with special powers, you need to do it, if only for safety reasons. These can be powerful, but also quite dangerous."

"Do those circles, lines and symbols mean anything?"

"They can mean a lot of things. Currents and directions of energy, boundaries for your summoned creature, constellations… the daedric inscriptions are often used to somewhat ground the creature. The daedra do not read as we do. Instead, they feel the words written in their language. If you choose the right characters, they will still be bound to Oblivion, unable to move freely across our plane."

Yrith stared at the jagged characters of the daedric script. It closely reminded her of the black-covered book she kept hidden in her room.

"So, I suppose a ritual is needed to summon a dead person?"

"That it is, yes."

"And what kind of script do you need to summon someone from… over there?"

Singird Larkwing slowly raised his head and met her gaze, a mixture of surprise, confusion and triumph mirrored in his face. "That…" he said with an almost inaudible chuckle, "I haven't thought about. You… bring up a very good point. A medium is needed for this ritual and if that medium is to survive, of course I must protect them."

"So… you'll need another person for it?"

"Yes."

"But in that case… to host a soul… wouldn't they have to have a crazy amount of power to be able to survive it?"

He stared at her and his eyes narrowed. Was it just her or did it irritate him to be asked so many questions?

"Once again, you are correct."

Yrith paused and tilted her head to the side. So this must be the reason that man had come to the College. But if so… "So who's it gonna be?"

The teacher coughed abruptly and gasped for air. "I… ahem! I have not decided on that yet." He quickly threw a glance at an hourglass that decorated the very middle of one of his shelves. There was a crystal dragon statue on each side of it, both carefully put at the exact same distance from it. "I think time is up. We will continue tomorrow. You can leave your notes there. I will go over them later."

She nodded and swung herself up on her feet. The light outside of the frosted glass window had faded into a veil of dark grey, indicated it was about time she returned to her room. And that was exactly what she was not planning to do.

Upon her release, she climbed up the stairs to the top of the tower to get a few sips of fresh air. Unlike the rest of the College, this place seemed deserted. The wind had ceased and the air was oddly still. Occasional light flickered from the depths where the remainder of the once proud city of Winterhold stood, and she could hear the thrumming of the sea below interrupted by an occasional horker cry. Every time she looked down from these heights, she felt very small. But at this moment, she was relishing it. After all, this might have been the first day in ages that she felt happy.

She had won a game against Qassir and that was something. For just that brief moment of triumph, she had had a place where she belonged. She had even enjoyed her own detention. Oblivion take it if she knew why Master Larkwing's research intrigued her so, but it had not felt like she was on a detention at all. So perhaps Singird Larkwing wasn't so bad after all.

She threw a glance to the Arcanaeum tower out of the corner of her eye. Somewhere in that tower was an elderly orc and he was probably very worried about her.

 _Or maybe he was._

She sighed.

"The night is young, the hatchling even younger, and yet it sighs as though its life is about to ebb away," a voice sang behind her back and she turned with a jerk. The silvery moonlight revealed a grotesque silhouette of a lizard woman with all sorts of trinkets hanging from every part of her. The Arch-Mage herself.

Yrith, struck by her presence, only managed to answer with a tacit gaze.

"Apologies. I must have startled you. I fear my communication skill are slightly… underdeveloped."

"That's…" Yrith stammered uncertainly.

"An understatement?" the Argonian asked in that honeyed voice. The girl shuddered.

"That's not what I…"

"You thought it. You should always say what you think. It is… good for your health. Also for your friends. And aren't you especially good at it too?"

"Who… what are you?" The words left Yrith's mouth before she could stop herself.

"Oh. Straight to the point! And I like it! But no, Miss Ravencroft, you do not question me, for I have questions of my own that need answering."

Yrith knit her brows and opened her mouth to protest, but the Arch-Mage would not care for interruptions.

"For example… you're standing on a crossroad. Which path do you want to take?"

"I don't understand."

"But you do, don't you? I can feel the struggle that feeds on your mind like a maggot on a carcass. Somehow you have become a part of all of it. Mysterious murder and attempt to kill you too, your classmates' fights and struggles… even your new teacher sees something in you. Do you even know what that is?"

"Well thank you for summing that… wait! How do you…"

The lizard's mouth widened in a smile reminiscent of a bizarre sneer on her reptilian face. "I must maintain some professional secrets," she purred. "But in case you hoped to gain some answers," she said as she walked to the low stone wall encircling the tower, "one of them is currently getting away."

"What do you…" Yrith joined her to view the crumbling narrow bridge connecting the College with the rest of the continent. Down there, in the pale light of the blue fountain, moved a shadow. She recognized the veil of neatly plaited thin braids that fell down on the olive skin of its bearer. "Qassir… but we're not supposed to… how did he even get out?"

She turned on her heel, ready to dart after him.

"Up to you, Miss Ravencroft, but even if the gate was open, you probably wouldn't be able to catch up. I am afraid he won't fulfill that promise he gave you anytime soon."

Yrith gaped at her, unable to decide between shock, disbelief and outrage. "Are you… stalking me?"

"And what good would that do me?" the Arch-Mage laughed with a ringing alto. "No, I am not. Let me ask you one thing. What do you think matters in life?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"A basic one."

A corner of Yrith's mouth twitched. "Whether you eat and drink."

She earned herself another laugh.

"That's… the general idea, yes. But there's more to it than just the fact that you are nourished or saturated, don't you think? Hmm…" She leaned comfortably against the wall and sent shivers down Yrith's spine as the girl imagined how cold the stone must be. "What do you think gets you fed?"

"My mouth," she uttered dryly.

"On the, let's say, mental, or maybe emotional level of your existence," the Arch-Mage said with stoic patience.

"My… taste… the fact that I want to survive and…"

"Now you're getting there. So what if you are fed by the need to survive… what fuels this need?"

"The, eh… I dunno… hope? Will to live? Determination?"

"Correct! So tell me, Miss Ravencroft… how determined are you to live? How determined are you to find out what's going on? And how determined are you to walk your own path?"

"I… how am I supposed to answer to that?"

"You can't, can you? Then let me give you a piece of advice. True determination is not only the ability to chase your goals. It is also the ability to take a moment to look around and see where you are standing."

"So…"

"So," the Argonian walked toward Yrith, leaning close so she could whisper in her ear, "look under your nose."

The Breton jerked to the side.

"By the way," said the Arch-Mage and the mirth returned to her voice, "be sure to make the Redguard boy pay you in full when you next see him."

Yrith raised a brow. The lizard mage made for the closest exit and hugged the doorframe. "Well, if not for the fact that Singird Larkwing summoned a thrall instead of a regular atronach in fear he would lose to you, you would have won the first bet. And, by the way… Master Larkwing's fear was justified."

She gave a strangely elegant bow that involved moving her weight to her tail and accompanied it by a mysterious smile.

"Good evening, Miss Ravencroft."

And she was gone before the Breton girl could utter a word.

Yrith stared at the door, unable to decide what to think. She had told her so little… yet so much to contemplate on. She leaned over the stone wall and looked down at the bridge again. Qassir had left the College without telling her anything at all. Instead, he had even tricked her. And Singird Larkwing… that son of a troll!

She paused. Were her summons really that strong?

Curiously, she put up her hands and conjured a frost atronach. The creature stood there motionlessly, the crackling of the ice on its surface breaking the silence. She touched it.

"How do I tell your strength?" she asked it and her finger slid down its cold arm. It replied with an empty look. "You don't even have a soul," she sighed. "How is it possible that you stand here before me? How would I fill you with a soul?"

"You want to fill an atronach with a soul?" a surprised voice of Leyna Travi came from behind. Yrith jumped and gasped, gaining support in her conjured elemental.

"Don't… ah! Is it really so popular to stalk me these days?!"

With a hand over her mouth, Leyna chuckled softly and a merry spark flicked in her eye.

"Couldn't really sleep with all the ruckus in the courtyard. I've done my homework and everything I needed to… that's right, didn't you have your detention with Larkwing today?"

"I did."

"So? How was it? Did he torment you with tons of impossible tasks and questions? Did he squeeze the life out of you?"

"Hey! Don't make fun of that!"

"Well, but you certainly seem in an oddly good mood. So?"

"It was… interesting. Seems like something that'll take a lot more than the few weeks I'll spend there."

"So what did you do?"

"Research."

"Waiiit… he made you do his work for him?" Leyna scoffed and crossed her arms on her chest.

"Well, he's a teacher. I guess it's his privilege…"

"So you're defending him now?" A sly smile formed on the elf's lips. Yrith did a very poor job concealing her scowl.

"You're mocking me."

"Haha. So? What kind of research?"

"Well, that's the thing!" There was a crack as the atronach crumbled and disappeared back to the depths of Oblivion. "He wants to conjure a spirit so he made me find some stuff for him. Though I didn't find anything useful," Yrith stooped her shoulders and mimicked a lost puppy. "I guess he was trying to comfort me when he said it's like a cipher that you work on for years, only to find that the answer has been lying right under your nose the whole time. But there's so much. Did you know there were rituals in conjuration and —" she suddenly froze and gaped at her companion as though she saw her for the first time.

"Yrith?" Leyna asked, head tilted to the side as she played with a stray lock of her blonde hair.

"Leyna!" the Breton gasped. "That's it! The cipher! The answer really _has_ been lying right under our nose the whole time!"

"What?"

"Follow me!" She gripped her classmate's hand and dragged her to the Hall of Attainment and downstairs, right to her room where she grabbed the small piece of paper on which a set of seemingly nonsensical characters was scribbled down.

"Remember this?"

"How could I not?" the elf replied with a chuckle. "So what did you find?"

"One of the blacked-out parts in the book spoke of a daedric treasure. Do you remember daedric script?"

Leyna's eyes widened in realization. "No, but there's a dictionary in the library!"

"The library…" Yrith muttered nervously. "Right."

"Let's go!"

"L-Leyna… wait! No!"

This time it was Leyna who was dragging Yrith all the way through the still crowded courtyard and up to the Arcanaeum, ignoring every word of protest the Breton girl barked out on their way. The dimly lit library was as quiet and serene as ever and the lovely smell of old paper and leather covers filled Yrith's nostrils. Standing on a stepladder next to one of the numerous shelves was Urag gro-Shub, breaking the silence with an occasional grunt as he pulled heavy books out of their shelves and put them in another place. In his usual place sat Phinis Gestor, eyes fixed on a book that seemed quite unused. Leyna mercilessly pulled Yrith right to the struggling orc. He turned around just in time to see them approach and froze when his gaze met Yrith's. She did the same.

"Um, Master gro-Shub," Leyna addressed him enthusiastically, "sorry to come this late but could we…" Her words faded out as she noticed his expression. She turned to Yrith and unwittingly held her breath. Her eyes slid from one side to another. Then she nervously poked her friend.

"Uh… Yrith?"

"I…"

"I'm sorry," the librarian said hoarsely and clumsily climbed down the ladder. He put a bear hand on Yrith's shoulder and the girl shuddered. "I… I won't go back on my words but I shouldn't have been so harsh with you. And… keep Larkwing out of it. He has nothing to do with it."

Leyna shifted her weight nervously and tried to put up a very answer-demanding expression. Both ignored her.

"He… didn't tell you anything?" the Breton stammered.

"No. Yrith… let's talk about this later. We'll have plenty of time. You came here for something, didn't you?"

"Ah," she finally turned to the blonde. "Yeah, we… I mean…"

"Dictionary," Leyna blurted nervously. "Daedric… do you… have one?"

The orc scratched the top of his head and smiled apologetically. "Pardon me for startling you, Miss…"

"Travi."

"Travi. Of course we do. General Linguistics section, bottom shelf. It's right by my desk."

"Thank you. Let's go," she whispered urgently in Yrith's ear and tugged at her sleeve. Both girls scuttled toward the said direction, silent as they searched for the book. Soon, both of them were bent over a table of characters. Leyna inhaled deeply.

"I hope I'm going to learn what _that_ was all about later," she breathed. "For now, let's focus on this."

Yrith nodded and they started transcribing the message, Yrith being the seeker while Leyna took on the role of a scribe. Soon, a new message lay before them, but it made them none the wiser. They stared at it for a long while before Yrith frowned and asked: "Now what?"

A confused shrug came in reply. She rubbed her temples, bit her lip and performed just about every bad habit she could think of, but no answer came to her. Then, suddenly, Leyna gasped.

"I got it!"

"So?"

"Look. Don't think of it as a daedric text. Just… sit back and look at it. This word. And this." She pointed to a few of the shortest words. Yrith narrowed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the letters. As she stared at them, the shapes shifted ever so slightly.

"That's… _of… mad… is…_ they're shapes! The characters resemble our letters!"

"Yes. But it's just the small ones. The words with the capitals in them make no sense. There must be a combination."

"Like… some kind of an elven script? The book it's based on is about an elven princess, after all."

"Elven? Hold on, I'm on it."

It only took the shortest of moments for Leyna to write down the message anew, and this time the jagged daedric letters were interspersed with her neat elven handwriting. But the bizarre combination looked strangely solid, as though the letters had always belonged together. Yrith fixed her eyes on it. Then, her hand slowly rose to cover her mouth. A message had formed on the paper, clear as day.

BEWARE OF THE STRIFE. FIND THE MAD SAGE OF TIME. WHAT HAPPENED IS NOT YOUR FAULT.

"W-what?!" she managed to produce.

"We did it!" Leyna squealed and hopped with joy. "We actually deciphered it! Though I have no idea what this means. The Strife? The Mad Sage of Time? What are those? And what is not whose fault? Yrith?"

"My fault," Yrith whispered. "I… didn't kill my parents."

"W-what? Y-yrith, what are you… k-kill?!"

"But this can't be… this is impossible!"

"Yrith, I don't understand."

"No one but my parents knew how much I loved that book and what parts I remember. No one but them could have made such a cipher. But then…" Yrith could feel her voice failing her, "they… they knew. Leyna, they knew they were gonna die. And they did nothing to stop it!"

The deep breath Yrith took could not stop the fresh supply of tears from welling in her eyes. The clutching of her fingers could not stop it either. She forcefully blinked, but it only made the tears fall in the hot streams and allowed more to follow. Leyna placed a shaky hand on Yrith's, fighting the conflicted expression that had taken over her face.

"Yrith… can I… help?"

One more breath… two more breaths… third came easier than the ones before.

 _"_ _What do you think matters in life?"_

"As a matter of fact, Leyna," the Breton whispered, "you can."

Leyna waited in silence. The answer came shortly.

"We need to find who murdered my parents."

* * *

 _Hey there, everyone! It's been a long long time and I'd like to apologize for this insane delay. It's been a very stressful year for me. I got a new job but my boss turned out to be a tyrant who likes to yell at people and drain them to the last bit of energy, so most of my days were just "Wake up, go to work, get yelled at, get stressed, wear yourself out, go home, eat food made by my boyfriend because I didn't have the time or strength to do it myself, go to sleep and dread the morning… and again and again. So in the end, I started having health issues because of it and ended up on a long sick leave that led to ending my job. Then I had to get used to my new job, but as soon as I did, I had to have a surgery and now my right hand is only half functional so it takes a lot of time and effort to write a chapter like this. Uff…_

 _Not that I want to complain. I think my life has gotten great, my new job is awesome (I get to translate anime, yay!) and I don't have any real problems anymore. But I thought it only fair to explain to you guys why you didn't get any chapters for the past year. I am sorry and I hope that from now on I'll be blessed with more time and energy to tend to you guys._

 _As always, thanks so much to dart0808 for the beta! Thanks for staying with me, bud!_

 _Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Will be happy to hear from you!_

 _Mirwen_


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